


it's a strange courage

by mambo



Series: Bucky Barnes: Former Disney Channel Star [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Angst, Bucky Barnes As A Former Disney Channel Star, Hollywood, Hollywood AU, Humor, M/M, Romance, discussion of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The question the entertainment world is asking themselves today is... Who is Steve? Hollywood superstar Bucky Barnes was spotted at a wrap-party last night, serenading someone named Steve onstage. Not only was Barnes more than a little tipsy, but he also sang a song from the Disney Channel Original Movie that started his career--a bold move, considering the fact that he always dodges questions about it. But who is Steve? Why did Bucky leave the club alone? What does this mean about the rumors of a relationship between Barnes and his co-star Natasha Romanoff? And is everyone's favorite poster boy gay? All this and more after a quick message from our sponsors!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's a strange courage

**Author's Note:**

> About the non-consensual sex: It's not explicit. The before and after are talked about in a flashback, but the sex itself isn't written through. There is, however, happy, nice, consensual sex for you.
> 
> Title's from 'Nuances of a Theme' by William Carlos Williams.

  _It's a strange courage_  
  _You give me, ancient star:_  
  
  _Shine alone in the sunrise_  
  _toward which you lend no part!_

-From 'Nuances of a Theme' by William Carlos Williams

**...**

“Hello everyone, this is Joan Rivers and boy do we have a great show for you today on _Fashion Police_. Today we’ll be dissecting the delicious gowns and sexy guys at the premiere of _Overture_.”

“For all you at home,” Guiliana Rancic adds, “That’s the new biopic starring Charles Xavier, Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes—“

“Oh that Bucky Barnes is looking real good,” Rivers interrupts with a throaty laugh.

“But it’s Natasha Romanoff that’s really impressing us this week,” Kelly Osbourn says. “Can we get a picture of her up on the screen?”

A picture of Natasha Romanoff appears on the television screen in the _Fashion Police_ studio. “Just stunning,” George Kotsiopoulus says. “A real winner there.”

“Now this is a Janet Van Dyne gown,” Joan explains. “Made especially for the young star and does she look amazing.” The gown itself has a plunging neckline in the black bodice with a sewn-in design of garnet-colored Swarovski crystals, which give it a dark, mysterious glow. The bottom is gauzy, “and just floated when she walked down the red carpet,” according to Rancic.

“And those shoes!” Osbourn makes a sound that only just doesn’t count as a moan of ecstasy. “The silver just _perfectly_ matches the aesthetic she’s going for, and that heel could definitely kill a man, but in the best kind of way.”

“Yeah,” Rivers says in her throaty voice. “I’d hate to see Barnes if he makes the wrong move.”

“You think they’re really an item?” Rancic asks conspiratorially. “There are those rumors about him and that guy at the nightclub…”

“Word is,” Osbourn says, leaning towards the other. “He couldn’t take his eyes off of Natasha the whole night.”

“Neither would I, not when she’s wearing those shoes!”

They all laugh.

**…**

**Three Days Earlier**

**…**

Bucky Barnes can’t stop staring over Natasha’s shoulder.

The guy must be her body guard, the way that he’s standing closely behind Natasha as she gives soundbites to the tabloids, with his arms behind his back. Every few seconds he surveys the area closely. He’s got blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkle in the flashing bulbs around Natasha. And the fact that he’s making Bucky think of the word _sparkle_ is already a bad sign. But what really captures Bucky’s attention is the way that Natasha holds her finger up to a camera, telling the reporter to “wait just a tick” while she leans over to the guy and whispers something in his ear. For just a moment he breaks his stoic, bodyguard character, cracks a smile and laughs with her, like they’re the only two people on the whole damn red carpet. And Bucky can’t tear his eyes away, can’t stop—

“Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky’s ready to jump out of his goddamn skin, but he’s also a goddamn professional actor at a premiere for his own goddamn movie, so he recovers quick enough that this reporter for some dirt rag tabloid with the word ‘dish’ used as a verb in its title can’t even tell that Bucky was momentarily shaken because of the most goddamn attractive guy he’s probably ever seen. “Sorry,” he says with the silky voice he’s perfected for these interviews. “Got a little distracted for a moment.” He quirks his lip at her, locks his eyes on hers. The reporter chuckles and glances away, made nervous by the sudden eye contact.

“No problem, Mr. Barnes,” she says into her microphone once she composes herself. “Anyone would be distracted by your co-star’s arrival. What a talented actress and such a stunning dress! Natasha looks amazing, don’t you agree Mr. Barnes?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, stroking his chin absently. “She’s really somethin’.”

His sparkling blue eyes and dreamy look will definitely earn him a page in the tabloids tomorrow, but the thing that the photographers never quite figure out is that it’s never Natasha Romanoff that makes him look that way.

**…**

Bucky Barnes is supposedly Hollywood’s biggest player and he’ll be the first one to propagate that rumor. Nobody ever has to know the last time he slept with someone was three years ago, and the last time he slept with someone he wanted to was a bit before that. But when you make a career out of shirtless photo spreads for fashion photographers and Gucci watch ads, you don’t complain when people cast you as a Hollywood lothario. Image is half of a guy’s career, after all, and Bucky wants to make it big.

**…**

It takes two hours to get through the line of reporters asking the same damn questions over and over. (“Who’re you wearing tonight?” (“Tom Ford,” he replies, trying not to imagine the reporter’s reaction if he said, “No actually, Tom Ford. This is a skin suit.”) “Are you seeing anyone right now?” (“When I look around here, I see a lot of people, including you,” he says with a wink, especially when the reporter is a heterosexual male talk show host, who immediately gets flustered.) and “What was your favorite memory from the film?” (“We had a shoot in St. Petersburg and some of us actors got hopelessly lost a few blocks away from the shoot. Couldn’t tell any of the crew, because they’d chew us out. But Nat, of course, she grew up in Russia, so she knows Russian. But of course, we’re not with her, so we had to call her and have her talk to locals on the phone and then translate what they said back to us so we could make our way back!”), Bucky finally makes his way into the theater.) And all Bucky wants is a drink and a seat.

But the moment he steps through the door, Tony Stark is on him. It’s like he’s some sort of bionic man equipped heat/Bucky-seeking-missles, set to detonate whenever Bucky is not in the mood. “Bucky Barnes, the man of the hour.” Tony throws an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and leads him into the room. They’re in a theater in downtown L.A., a relic of a fancier past for movies. The lobby has plush, red, clean carpeting and dark wood bar with tuxedo-clad bartenders making drinks and passing out small bags of popcorn. There are golden frames with movie posters of great classics around the lobby, along with the poster for _Overture_ , a picture of Charles Xavier’s back, lifting a baton to a black background with _Overture_ written in a cursive text over his head.

“Tony,” Bucky says because Stark’s the film’s executive producer, a Hollywood legacy and all-around big shot, and Bucky would like to be cast in a movie again before he dies.

Tony chuckles. “Don’t sound too excited to see me, Barnes, you may just lose that casual, charming persona you’ve made for yourself. Were you aware that your sincere and endearing line about _seeing_ everyone at the premiere is already trending? Every thirteen year-old on Twitter is broken-hearted, thinking that you’ve got yourself some secret ladyfriend that isn’t them.” Bucky snorts, rolls his eyes. “That’s a pretty impressive evasive maneuver you’ve made yourself. Gotta remember that next time somebody wants to hear about my private life.” Tony’s grinning, which is never a good sign, and Bucky has an idea where this conversation is going. “Who’s the lucky gal who has ensnared the heart of Hollywood’s hottest grump?” 

And it’s just Bucky’s goddamn luck that the moment he shoves Tony off of him, Natasha and her hunky bodyguard walk into the room. While Tony laughs and makes sure his drink hasn’t spilled, said bodyguard gives Bucky a searching look, like he already distrusts him. _Whatever_ , Bucky tells himself. _Not like I was gonna get to sleep with him anyway._

Tony’s saying something about calling his lawyers and ruining Bucky’s career, but both of them know he’s not serious. “I need a drink,” Bucky says, knowing that’s the one way he can get Tony off his back, no questions asked.

On his way to the bar, Bucky respectfully greets Charles Xavier, the man who played Tchaikovsky in the film. Though Bucky played Nikolai Rubenstein, Tchaikovsky’s best friend, sometimes rival and unrequited love interest, the two of them never became particularly close. While on set, Xavier would spend most of his free time having quiet, sometimes angry conversations with his agent, Erik Lehnsherr in secluded areas. No one thought to get involved in that. It also takes a short conversation with his agent, Phil, and a few other acquaintances before he can make it to the bar. “Vodka martini with a twist,” Bucky says to the bartender, desperation audible in his voice. “Put it in a tumbler.”

“Wouldn’t want to spill all over that nice suit, would you Barnes?” And there’s Natasha, her handsome shadow following at her heels, who is even taller than Bucky thought, which makes Bucky inordinately angry. Like, couldn’t he have been short? Couldn’t Bucky have had that, at least? “Make that two,” she tells the bartender as she leans against the dark wood. “And…” She glances back at the bodyguard, highly stylized chignon not moving an inch.

“A ginger ale,” he says.

She rolls her eyes—though not unkindly—and adds, “And a ginger ale for the Girl Scout” to the order. He chuckles quietly. Bucky is very resolutely not looking at him, not being charmed by his smile and definitely not going to say a word to him.

“I like your shoes,” Bucky says, which probably did not add to his manliness card with the sexy bodyguard, come to think of it, but he was always destined to make an ass of himself in front of this guy. “Killed someone with them yet?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You want to be the first?”

Bucky grins and leans back on the bar in a way he hopes makes him look dapper and not shorter. “It’s nice to see you too, Nat.”

“Don’t call me that; it’s tacky.”

“Like your shoes?” the bodyguard says, which makes Bucky snort in an undignified sort of way before cursing God for putting this perfect specimen, gorgeous _and_ funny, who can also keep a straight face while Natasha Romanoff is glaring at him, in front of Bucky, who is obviously a goober who cannot even laugh like a normal human being. The world is cruel. Bucky knew that before, has been very brutally reminded of it, but this moment seems especially unfair in the grand scheme of his life.

At least, until the next unfair moment, which involves Natasha totally noticing Bucky checking out the hot bodyguard. Her expression changes, looking amused and devious, her dark red lips beautifully twisting into one of the most terrifying smirks Bucky has ever seen. “Oh Bucky, you haven’t met my bodyguard yet, have you. He didn’t come with me to Russia. This is Steve,” she says, looking back to tall, blonde and muscular.

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says, holding out his hand and hoping that his palms aren’t too sweaty. ( _They totally are_ says an incredibly traitorous voice at the back of his head.)

“Steve Rogers,” he says, taking Bucky’s hand and shaking it firmly. His hands are totally bigger than Bucky’s, which is another tick on Bucky’s ever-increasing list of why life isn’t fair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a big fan of your work.”

Bucky lets go and raises an eyebrow as the bartender sets his martini down on the bar on a cocktail napkin. “Really?” he asks, with a sarcastic edge, though he’s actually a bit hopeful. He pulls his wallet out from his back pocket, but can’t take his eyes off Steve.

“Oh yeah,” Steve says, a playful smirk settling into his features that just smells of trouble. “I would babysit for this one middle schooler when I was in high school. We’d watch _I Was A Teenage Pop Star_ every time I came over. I think I still remember the lyrics to most of your songs, if you want to do a duet later.”

Bucky nearly drops his wallet, but he recovers _and_ manages to pull out a ten dollar bill. He lays it on the bar. “When I go to Heaven—and don’t you say a word about that, Natasha—I will walk up to the pearly gates and you know what God will say to me, Steve Rogers?”

He raises one of his goddamn blonde eyebrows. “What?”

“You know Bucky? I thought _I Was A Teenage Pop Star_ was a good, entertaining movie and a solid career choice given your age and inexperience.” He slips his wallet back into his pocket and looks back at Natasha. “It’s been a pleasure as always, Nat. Enjoy the film, Steve.”

And Bucky walks away.

 **…**  

In fact, _I Was A Teenage Pop Star_ was a solid career choice in its own way. Bucky was on the last of his cash. His foster mom has fronted him the money to move out to L.A. and Bucky couldn’t face shuffling back to Brooklyn as a failure and having to explain that he couldn’t even pay her back. The casting call for some Disney Channel Original Movie had been a last resort, but even then Bucky hadn’t had much hope. But when he got the call that he was cast as Chad Darling, a teenage pop star going back to high school for two months in order to get his diploma, it was a godsend.

Not that he’d ever let anyone know. It’d ruin his image. 

Clint, his publicist, just tells him to laugh off any mention of the movie in interviews, but no one dares mention it because Clint warns them beforehand that mentioning it will make sure that Bucky never steps foot on their show again if they do. 

What those guys who snicker about that movie don’t know was the look on his ma’s face when he told her or the way that Becky convinced her superiors to let her and her friends have a viewing party, even though they were all in basic at the time. When he came back to visit, his high school principal had him give a speech to the school and they gave him a plaque. Sure, they movie’s not Oscar-worthy, and Bucky’s performance wasn’t anywhere near what he did in _Overture_ but Bucky’s still pretty damn proud of that goddamn movie, no matter what some mouthy bodyguard says about it.

**…**

Bucky’s already in his seat by the time his date gets there.“Hey man,” Sam says, slipping into the seat next to Bucky’s, so quiet that Bucky nearly jumps.

“Jesus, Sam. When’d you get here?”

“Just in time to see you ogling that hunk with Natasha Romanoff.” Sam gives him an obvious _you gotta tell me about this_ look, which Bucky is _definitely_ not in the mood for. Firstly, he’s not thirteen anymore and they’re not in the boy’s locker room, and secondly, she and _flipping Steve Rogers_ could get to their seats nearby any minute, and the last thing Bucky needs is that guy overhearing them thinking that Bucky’s got some sort of schoolboy crush on him.

“Yeah, well,” he says, giving his martini to Sam to take a sip, hopefully serving as a distraction. “He’s an asshole.”

“Perfect,” Sam says, wincing after taking his sip. “You are, too.”

Bucky takes his drink back and grins; Sam smiles back.

Sam’s the best part of Hollywood, not that he’d ever let him know that. He was a stuntman on a action flick Bucky did two years ago and has been his +1 to almost every event he goes to since then. Not that they arrive together; wouldn’t want people to talk. It’s been a bit tougher to get together since Sam got a featured role as a criminal psychologist on a weekly cop procedural, but they still hang out as much as they can. “Just be glad you missed the endless mingling. I swear to god, if I have to hobnob with another Hollywood asshole I’m gonna pull out my goddamn hair.”

“And that’s your only real selling point so—“

Bucky doesn’t spill his drink while he elbows Sam in the stomach, which really just proves how much practice he has at elbowing Sam in the stomach. 

**…**

The movie may end with Tchaikovsky dying, but Bucky could tell that more people cried when he died, which shouldn’t make Bucky happy but totally does since he’s kind of a competitive asshole. Still, the last thing he wants is people coming up to him, congratulating him and wanting to buy him a drink. He’s exhausted and all he wants is to go back to his apartment and crawl into his bed, maybe watch an episode of _My Cat From Hell_ if it happens to be on. But there’s an after-party to attend and people to schmooze, so Bucky quickly, though reluctantly says goodbye to Sam and makes his way to the hired car that’s waiting for him outside the theater. He clumsily changesout of his suit in the backseat; he puts on jeans, a black t-shirt and his favorite leather jacket, since there’s no way in hell he’s going in a tuxedo—heads over to the club where they’re having the party.

He’s just gotta stay for an hour, he tells himself. One hour, a few handshakes and maybe one dance with a cute gal, then he can go home to Jackson Galaxy and some leftover Chinese. It’s not that he doesn’t like going out. Quite the contrary: there are some nights—ones that tabloids particularly love—where Bucky wants nothing more than to get drunk and dance up close to sweaty strangers. But on nights like tonight, nights where _he_ may show up and Bucky has to constantly look over his shoulder, Bucky doesn’t much feel like going out.

Of course, as soon as Bucky steps out of the car there are a hundred flashing bulbs and every part of him wants to cover his eyes and climb right back into that car, but he can’t, so he just gives a close-mouthed smile and tries to make his tired eyes look as sexy as possible while he’s only running on four hours of sleep, one martini and his own severe self-loathing.

And then Steve Rogers is grabbing his elbow, moving in close and whispering into his ear. “Make it look like I’m saying something urgent.” So Bucky looks at him with wide eyes and nods once, waves quickly to the crowd and lets Steve walk him into the club, hand lightly touching Bucky’s elbow. It’s not until he’s past the bouncer, away from the paparazzi and Steve’s hand is off his arm that Bucky takes a breath.

The club is mostly blue; aqua-colored walls and floors with large, clear fishtanks with all sorts of aquatic creatures in the room. Bucky thinks this may be the worst-possible place to try to raise healthy fish, but he keeps that to himself. The furniture is all chrome, the bar a pristine, shining silver in the pulsating lights of the bar. The music is something loud and techno that Bucky hasn’t heard before, but has a perfect beat for the gyrating mass of tangled bodies on the dance floor.

Bucky looks up at Steve, all angles in the blue light. “Thanks,” he shouts over the music.

Steve smiles—it seems sincerely, strangely at odds with the location. “Don’t mention it. I… I think I may have started off on the wrong foot,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his giant hands. But honestly, embarrassment looks good on Steve Rogers and Bucky’s willing to give anyone a second chance if they have that strong a jaw.

“Yeah buddy,” Bucky says with a shrug. “You picked the wrong thing to poke fun at, y’know?”

“I gathered that.” He pauses. “Let me buy you a drink.”

Bucky swallows. “Sure,” he says.

**…**

Things Bucky learns about Steve:

Steve was in the army, which explains the beautiful physique and current employment. He was Captain Rogers while in Iraq, but rather than take a promotion and stay in the army until he was old and crumbly, he decided to be a citizen again. He’s an artist in his free time, makes some good cash that way, but what he really wants to do is be an animator. He’s working on a portfolio to send over to Disney, but hasn’t quite gotten the courage to send it over yet.

Steve’ll stop a conversation halfway through to go over to the bar and check on a girl who he thinks may be getting harassed by a drunk thug. He will also walk her out and wait for a cab with her since she’s too drunk to drive, then pay for her cab ride home. Then he’ll have the audacity to _apologize_ to Bucky for all this, as if he’s somehow inconvenienced him with his incredible goddamn chivalry. 

Steve usually drinks beer, but orders a Manhattan tonight. “I don’t go out too much,” he explains. “I’m a little nervous,” he adds, which Bucky is sure he wouldn’t have had he gone with beer. 

It always takes Steve a second too long smile. When he does, it starts out small, but grows until it takes over his face, and it lingers in his blue eyes for a few seconds too long once it’s over. And Steve’s smiling a lot tonight. So is Bucky.

And Bucky is so fucked.

**…**

“Tattoos?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head. “Loser.” Bucky takes a swig of his drink; he switched over to a rum and Coke when he got there and is finally in that nirvana-like state between buzzed and stumbling. Everything is a bit fuzzy, which gives Steve a little halo of light around his glorious head. It’s a good aesthetic. 

Steve raises an eyebrow—which is apparently something that he does a lot, but it’s also somethingthat Bucky also does a lot and while it doesn’t _exactly_ mean that they’re soul mates matched in sarcasm, it definitely could—and says, “Like you do.”

Bucky snorts, shrugs his jacket off and pulls up the left sleeve of his shirt, glad that he works out so much. On his arm is a red star, outlined in black. It’s not the most impressive tattoo he’s ever seen, but hey, at least it makes him cooler than Steve.

“Is that… Communism?”

Bucky pulls the sleeve back down and puts his jacket back on. Bucky has been victim to his own drunken forgetfulness before, and he doesn’t want to lose another comfortable leather jacket to the depths of a nightclub lost and found. You can never wash the smell out, even with dry cleaning. “Truth is I don’t even really know. I was really angry and really sad and really drunk and I wanted a goddamn red star on my bicep.” He shrugs and looks away at the crowd, which is as big and loud as they were two hours ago, when Bucky walked in.

When he looks back at Steve, he’s looking at him a little weird. His head is tilted just a bit to the side, the small change noticeable only because he’s usually god ramrod-straight posture. And his eyes are wide, so blue, and maybe a bit concerned. But then he laughs and even if it does seem a bit forced, Steve’s smiling again and that may be all Bucky wants in the world. “You call that a bicep?”

Bucky faux-punches Steve’s bicep, and if it lingers there for a moment too long, then it’s definitely because he’s drunk and only probably because he’s shit at flirting.

“I nearly got a tattoo once,” Steve confides.

“Really now?” Bucky asks, hoping his smirk is as alluring as he wants it to be.

Steve nods, very seriously. “I was going to get a line from _Prom Queen Darling_ tattooed on my bicep.”

“Now that’s just mean, Steve,” Bucky says, but he’s laughing. _Prom Queen Darling_ was the pivitol song of _I Was A Teenage Pop Star_. Chad Darling was given the choice to return to his life of stardom or to take Erika, his love interest, to prom, and Erika was led to believe that—gasp!—Chad had chosen a life of money and fame over her! But lo and behold, Chad had a change of heart and, right before they announced Prom King and Queen, he sang a song that he wrote for her: _Prom Queen Darling_. The two of them won Prom King and Queen and danced slowly under a disco ball after. Of course, that didn’t change the fact that Chad only showed up for the last hour of the Prom and totally stole her away from Max, her unlucky-in-love best friend, but hey. The script never addressed those facts. Just showed them in a flash-forward three weeks later, where Chad’s taking Erika in his convertible to Los Angeles. To do what was never addressed, either, come to think of it. “You’re still makin’ fun of me!”

“The truth is,” Steve says on his third Manhattan—Natasha gave him the rest of the night off, and he wanted to spend it good and wasted. He leans in towards Bucky and Bucky cannot help but lean closer. Heat is radiating off of Steve and his eyes are so very, very blue. “I had the hugest crush on you. In that movie, I mean. On the Disney channel? Your voice was all gravely even though you were, what? Eighteen? I didn’t know any guys with a gravelly voice like that at my high school.” Steve’s got a little sweat on him and Bucky wants to lick it off. Some part of Bucky is understanding that this nerd—because that’s what Steve is really, a huge nerd—had a crush on him when he was sixteen, which is absurd, and Bucky’s not entirely sure that he isn’t imagining this conversation. Besides, Steve’s crush was when he was _sixteen_ , not today and it’s… Not going to happen. But when Steve leans in close and gestures for Bucky to move in, Bucky lets himself move closer. “And I was… Small. Like, really tiny. Bad asthma, too. And I got picked on a lot. When I turned eighteen I had this magical growth spurt, but even after I enlisted I felt small, real small. I’d listen to the music from that movie, though, and it just kinda kept me going.” Bucky lets himself watch Steve’s throat as he swallows and this is dangerous. “I never quite got over that movie. There was so long that I imagined that…” And Steve’s quietly giggling into Bucky’s ear, the breathy sound moving down his spine and sending shivers along with it. “That _Chad Darling_ would come to _my_ high school and see the…” his voice quivers a little, sounding raw and a little insecure “beauty inside my soul and serenade me at prom or something.”

Bucky laughs, though the sound is a little weak. “There’s still time,” he says and if he’s a bit too close to Steve’s ear, it’s definitely because it’s too loud in there, with all those kids dancing to that techno and all the other things Bucky’s been ignoring. “All you gotta do is ask.”

Steve chuckles quietly and _shit_.

“Would you?”

And Bucky only stumbles a bit when he gets up too quickly, but he doesn’t even care, since he knows that what he’s about to do is going to be the most embarrassing thing he ever does. “Wait here,” Bucky says, then heads up to the DJs. It takes a bit of finagling, but no DJ isn’t convinced when he has a few hundred more bucks in his pocket—because Bucky can totally live off of ramen for the next month. The DJ shoves a microphone into Bucky’s hand and quiets the music.

“GOOD EVENING EVERYONE,” Bucky yells, and the crowd erupts. Bucky lets out a blast of laughter straight into the mic, which thankfully didn’t give any feedback. “I’m Bucky,” he says, attempting to gesture to himself, but ending up banging the mic into his chin, which must have looked incredibly regal, but most of the crowd was polite enough not to laugh, even when it did make a thump over the sound system. “And I am in _Overture_ , which is great!” And there’s another enthusiastic cheer. “But you know what else is great? My first movie: a Disney Channel Original movie called _I Was A Teenage Pop Star_.” And frankly, the amount of screaming is sort of obscene because it’s louder than it was for _Overture_ , which is an actual work of art. “Alright guys, shhhhhhhhhhh…” And if he stumbles a little it’s only because he’s nervous. “Now, I made a friend tonight… Steve, where are you?” Bucky looks into the crowd, but can’t see him. People are moving around too much and it’s making Bucky a little dizzy, so he just continues. “And he wants me to serenade him with one of _Chad Darling’s_ songs, and somehow we found a karaoke track for _Prom Queen Darling_ , so would anyone mind if I sang it? It’s only two minutes and eighteen seconds long, so I promise it won’t bum you guys out for long.”

If anyone disagrees, they’re being drowned out by the crowd, so the music starts and as the first few notes plays, Bucky says, “Steve, this is for you” before belting out the song that had begun his career.

**…**

It takes Bucky longer than anticipated to get back to the corner that he and Steve had been in. The crowd wants him to get back up there, sing more, dance with them, at least, and Bucky has to gently push away a number of people, saying that he’s gotta go find Steve. Have you seen Steve? He’s tall and blonde, a total nerd. When he gets back, Steve’s nowhere to be seen. Bucky looks around, but can’t find him (or Natasha, who he starts to look for after he gives up on Steve) anywhere.

After searching the club thoroughly, Bucky says goodbye to all the right people, who all rib him for his performance, then goes home alone.

 _My Cat From Hell_ isn’t even on when he gets back, but it barely matters, since Bucky passes out as soon as he flops into his bed.

**…**

“Who is Steve?” Norah Winters, host of _Front Line Entertainment News_ asks the camera, punctuating each word with excited importance. On the side of the screen is a grainy photo of Bucky up on the stage yesterday. Security had checked people for cameras before they came in, and milled through the crowd trying to make sure no one took pictures of the stars, but no one is perfect and apparently some cellphone footage of Bucky onstage got out. “Yes, this is the question the entertainment world is asking today... Who is Steve? Hollywood superstar Bucky Barnes was spotted at a wrap-party last night, serenading someone named Steve onstage. Not only was Barnes more than a little tipsy, but he also sang a song from the Disney Channel Original Movie that started his career--a bold move, considering the fact that he always dodges questions about it. But who is Steve? Why did Bucky leave the club alone? What does this mean about the rumors of a relationship between Barnes and his co-star Natasha Romanoff? And is everyone's favorite poster boy gay? All this and more after a quick message from our sponsors.”

“What the fuck,” Bucky says to his apartment because he hasn’t even finished his first cup of coffee and this is what the universe has decided to curse him with.

And because Bucky’s mere thoughts tested the universe’s patience, his phone rings a minute later. It’s Clint. Who is going to stand there and watch as Bucky removes his own testicles, sautés them and serves them to Clint on a silver platter, since Clint has done nothing but damage control on _I Was a Teenage Pop Star_ since Bucky signed on with him. Still, because Bucky values his career and his friendship with Clint, he picks up.

“What the fuck,” Clint says. “I leave you alone for one night and you go sing your fucking _Disney song_ to a room _while drunk_ and proclaiming your love to some guy you met that night?” Bucky winces. His headache is way too terrible for this. He should’ve waited until he had about twice as many aspirin in his system for this conversation.

“I didn’t confess my love,” Bucky says mildly, knowing that he’s not helping anyone.

“You do realize that we’re trying to get rid of your fucking teenage heartthrob image, right?” Clint sounds like a six-cups-of-coffee kind of morning tense, which Bucky knows is his fault, but also terrifies him just a bit.

“That was the plan, yeah.”

“Well you’re fucked on that. No one’s gonna take you seriously now.”

Bucky sighs. “What do I do?” he asks, scratching the back of his head and laying on his couch.

“Lay low,” Clint says. He sighs. “There’re gonna be paps following you today, so I wouldn’t leave your apartment.” Bucky shuts his eyes and if he prays for death, it is completely ironic. “And no matter what you do, do not get in touch with this Steve Rogers guy. I don’t care if he’s your cousin or the goddamn love of your life. You _do not talk to him_. I’m gonna go track him down and make him sign a gag order and you’re gonna _stay put._ ” And Clint hangs up.

“Fuck,“ Bucky repeats, sighs, turns off his phone and heads to the shower.

**…**

After a long, hot shower, some scrambled eggs and a pot and a half of coffee, Bucky feels human enough to turn his phone back on. The fact he’s just now realized that it’s almost four pm has nothing to do with that. He has six voicemails and twenty-three text messages. And while most of them are from Clint, telling him how much of an idiot he is in new and exciting ways, there’s also a voicemail from Natasha Romanoff. Bucky swallows hard and his throat feels dry. Ignoring the other messages, he listens to that voicemail first.

“—got his voicemail. Do you still want to—?” Natasha’s voice says.

There’s then the shuffling noises of the phone passing hands, then, “Bucky, hello. This is… Steve Rogers. We met last night.” There’s muffled giggling from Natasha, then, “Ouch. You’re supposed to be my bodyguard!” Steve says something unintelligible and Bucky’s grinning. “I just wanted to apologize for leaving. Natasha needed to—“ “Don’t you dare blame this on me, Rogers.” “Natasha needed to go. But I… Appreciate what you did for me.” Bucky sits down and hates the fact that he can hear the smile in Steve’s voice. “And I’m… Sorry that this became kind of a media frenzy, so I thought I would… Offer my services. As a bodyguard. If you need them because I’m sure that the paparazzi are swarming you right now. So… If you ever want to talk to me again, you can call Natasha’s number. If not, well, I had a really nice time last night. With you.” Natasha’s laughing again in the background. “So thanks for that.” And he hangs up.

It takes a lot of Bucky’s self-restraint to check his other messages before calling Steve back. Most are from Clint, telling him _not to leave the apartment. Not, under any circumstances, are you to leave the apartment._ But he’s also got a long voicemail from Sam, who does nothing but laugh and mock him mercilessly—“since you said he was an asshole and but still decided to ruin your career over it”—which given the circumstances, is a real dick move. But once he gets through them, he finds Natasha’s number in his contacts and calls.

He knows this isn’t a good idea for a lot of reasons, one of the main one being that he’s supposed to maintain a healthy heterosexual image to entice women to come to his movies and buy posters of him for their bedrooms and the media—already on his case—will have an absolute heyday if he gets seen with his co-star’s male bodyguard. But maybe that’s not what Steve wants. Maybe he just really wants to beat up some paparazzi for Bucky, which honestly Bucky wouldn’t really mind, even if it doesn’t involve Steve being naked. So, there’s no reason to—

“Well, well. Bucky Barnes, to what do I owe the honor? I don’t believe you’ve ever called me before.”

Natasha Romanoff terrifies him a bit, which is why he’s never really called her. The Russian prima ballerina-turned-actress may seem elegant when she’s in _Vogue_ —which is pretty frequently—but she’s got a sarcastic streak a mile wide, and Bucky’s seen her knock down some guy who tried to steal her purse in St. Petersburg. Why she needs a bodyguard is a little beyond him; she can most definitely take care of herself.

“There was the time that I was lost in a foreign country and you translated my way back to the hotel.”

“Which was a real impressive moment, I must say. Almost as impressive as your little impromptu show last night.” Bucky clears his throat and Natasha laughs.

“Anyhow, I was, uh, wonderin’ if—“

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with my bodyguard, _Steve_ now would it?” Bucky can hear Steve in the background, saying, “Wait, is that—“

“Yeah, actually,” Bucky says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Could I—“

“Because, you know, if this is about Steve, then you may want to know that— Hey!”

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice says a little breathlessly into the phone as Natasha mutters something in Russian. “Hi.”

“Hey. Steve.” He pauses. “I got your message.”

“Right, I left you a message.”

Bucky chuckles and hopes it doesn’t sound as nervous as he thinks it does. (It definitely does.) “Yes you did.”

“Blushing virgin!” Natasha calls.

There’s the sound of footsteps and a door closing before Steve responds. “Sorry about that,” Steve says. “Natasha’s a good person, just _a bit too involved in my life_.” Obviously, that last part wasn’t meant for Bucky and it’s kind of weird to think of patented Ice Queen Natasha Romanoff being overly involved in anyone’s life, let alone her employee’s life. “Anyhow, how are you?”

“Got the hangover from hell, but other than that, fine.”

“You… up-to-date about… the media?” It sounds so uncomfortable and forced that Bucky has to laugh.

“Yeah bud. I woke-up with about sixteen texts from my publicist swearing me out.”

“Sorry,” Steve says and it sounds sincere.

Oh god. He’s sincere even when he’s not drunk. “Look Steve,” he says so naturally, too naturally and when it really shouldn’t be… “This is entirely your fault.” Steve’s silent, and Bucky hopes that this tactic works. “And now I’m under house arrest and have got all these paparazzi swarming my place.” At least he’s assuming they are; he hadn’t actually bothered to check. He’s only been in this place for two weeks, so the papparrazzi seem to have lost his trail, but they’ll find him soon enough, and now’s the perfect opportunity. “So you better come over. I’ll order a pizza.”

Steve lets out a breath. “Yeah, I just need to talk to Natasha. But… yeah.” Steve’s voice is a bit breathy and Bucky needs to _calm down_ because it shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Bucky gives Steve his address and tells him that he’ll describe Steve to the front desk, who’ll buzz him in with no questions asked to keep the paps off their trail. Then—just because he’s not sure and needs to make sure—he says, “You know I was joking, right?”

“About coming over?”

“No, about this being your fault.”

“Of course,” Steve says, laughing. “You were the one who signed a contract with the Mouse. I can’t be faulted for your bad taste in roles.”

“Hey—“ Bucky says, but Steve’s already hung-up, laughing.

After taking a moment to pull himself together, Bucky gets on Papa Johns’s website and orders everything he could possibly want, because if he’s under house arrest, at least he’ll eat well.

**…**

“Holy shit,” the kid says when Bucky opens the door. “You’re _actually_ Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Who else’d I be?”

“We have a lot of people who put down false names,” he says in a monotone and awe. “I usually assume they’re not celebrities since celebrities usually have better taste in pizza.”

Bucky snorts. “I won’t tell your boss you said that.”

The color drains from the kid’s face. “Shit man, Bucky, Mr. Barnes, I mean. Sir. I didn’t mean—“

“Take a breath,” Bucky says between laughs. “It’s fine. _Really_ fine. Okay?” He nods. “Now I think you have some food to give me.” The kid nods again, but doesn’t move. Bucky looks pointedly at the insulated pizza holder he’s carrying. “Oh shit,” the kid says, fumbling as he takes out Bucky’s order. Bucky grabs the pizza and sets it on the floor next to the door inside the apartment.

He then grabs the $100 bill from his back pocket. “Here,” he says, handing it to the kid. “Keep the change.”

“Dude, that’s, like, a 110% tip.”

“I was a pizza boy for three years, dude. And I went to rich peoples’ houses on the Upper East Side and they’d never tip me. One lady? She ordered twenty-five goddamn pizzas, which I had to haul halfway across the city and she hands me a quarter and says, ‘here’s your chip’ before slammin’ the door in my face. So take the money and do something fun. Just make sure it’s legal. And don’t smoke.”

“Uh, Mr. Barnes.”

“Bucky,” Bucky corrects because there’s never really been a Mr. Barnes in Bucky’s life, and Bucky has no intention of being the first. But the kid just kind of looks at him blankly, so Bucky rolls his eyes—not unkindly, he hopes—and says, “Yeah, Mr. Barnes works. What?”

“My little sister is a really big fan of yours,” the kid says, not able to meet Bucky’s eyes and slowly turning red. “And she’s starting her freshman year of high school tomorrow, and I was wondering if…” His voice cracks, so he pauses to clear it. “If I could get your autograph for her.”

If there’s one thing in the world Bucky has a soft spot for, it’s little sisters.

“‘Course, buddy,” Bucky says. “Got paper?”

The kid scrambles and grabs a receipt from his back pocket, which he hands over to Bucky, along with a white pen with Papa Johns written in red on the side and an embarrassed look. Bucky holds the receipt up against the wall of his apartment. “What’s’er name?” he asks, clicking the pen so the ballpoint is out.

“Rebecca,” he says, “But she goes by Becca.”

Bucky nearly drops the pen. “No shit?” he says.

The boy looks nervous and wide-eyed, like he’s said something wrong. “Yeah… uh, no shit.”

Bucky laughs as he scrawls _To Becca, High school is terrible, but I know you’ll be amazing. Love, Bucky Barnes_. “My sister’s named Rebecca,” he explains, handing the receipt over to the kid. “Though she goes by Becky.”

“Thanks Mr. Barnes—“

“Wait,” Bucky says. “That autograph is kind of shitty. You got a phone?” The kid nods. “If I call her now, do you think she’ll pick up?”

“She’s at the movies—“

“Perfect,” he says. “I’ll leave her a message wishin’ her luck at school tomorrow, then we’ll take a cute selfie together so you can prove to her that it’s really me. Got it?”

“You’re so cool,” the kid says, which makes Bucky laugh.

“Dial her number than gimme your phone,” Bucky says in response because honestly, sincere people are really just too much for him. The kid drops the pizza bag and rummages through his pocket and pulls out an older model iPhone. He taps the screen a few times, then holds it out to Bucky.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky says as it rings. As expected, it goes to voicemail. “Hi Becca. This is Bucky Barnes. I don’t know if you know me, but I’m in a couplea movies. Anyhow, your brother was just tellin’ me that you’re gonna start high school tomorrow. So I wanted to wish you luck and tell you that high school’ll suck from time to time, but the diploma is worth it in the end, so stick it out. Anyhow, this was your friend Bucky and remember to thank your brother for this.” Satisfied, he hangs up, then taps around to get to the camera. “Okay,” he says. “Get close, hold the autograph up and smile.”

The kid does as he’s told and the picture turns out pretty well.

“You’re not gonna get in trouble for being late, right?” Bucky asks as the kid puts the phone away. “Because I can call your boss and tell ‘im that I kept you and it’s all my fault.”

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “But… thanks. You’re really cool.”

“Thanks,” Bucky responds. “Drive safe.”

And the kid smiles, then grabs his pizza container and walks away. Bucky sighs, then checks his own phone; it’s been almost an hour and there’s been no word from Steve. Is he not coming? Did he get lost? What could have—

“What the hell was that?” Steve asks, appearing so suddenly and quietly that Bucky jumps back a bit and nearly trips over the pizza boxes that he had set down earlier.

“What the hell, Rogers?” Bucky says, then curses himself a bit for being a parrot. “You scared the crap outta me.”

“You called that kid’s sister.”

Bucky feels the blood rush from his face. “Whatever,” he says.

“You gave him a 100% tip.”

“How long were you freakin’ standin’ there?” Bucky asks, looking down and away from Steve.

“I was in the same elevator as him.”

Bucky groans. “That’s creepy, y’know?” And he meets Steve’s eyes and wishes he hadn’t, because there’s something like fondness in them, which Bucky really can’t handle.

Steve smiles at him and says a little quieter, “That was a cool thing you did for that kid.” Bucky looks away again, sighs. “And I forgive you for lying to me about the paparazzi.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow and steps aside. Steve walks into the apartment. “I dunno what you mean by that,” he says.

“There’s not a single camera outside, at least that I could tell. And finding those guys is part of my job; I’m pretty good at it.”

“Probably because I moved in here two weeks ago and they haven’t found me yet,” Bucky admits while picking up the boxes from the floor. “Go over to the couch. You owe me pizza.”

“Which you bought,” Steve says, but he heads over to the couch, so Bucky counts it as a win.

“Hope you like Meat Lovers,” Bucky replies. “Though I also got just pepperoni and wings. And breadsticks. And a cinnapie because they were havin’ a deal.” He takes the boxes over to the coffee table in front of his couch and sets them down. “What d’you wanna drink?” he asks.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” Steve says, sitting down at the edge of the couch, like he’s at attention.

Bucky nods, then heads into the kitchen, over to the fridge. His stomach churns with a glance at the beers he has stashed in the vegetable crisper, so he grabs two cans of Coke, a couple of plates and a roll of paper towels and heads back in the living room. Steve is still sitting in the same position, looking at a bad piece of art that Bucky has on the wall a few feet away from the TV.

“You can relax,” Bucky says. “You’re not in detention.” Steve smiles, but doesn’t say anything. Suddenly uncomfortable, Bucky puts the Cokes, plates and paper towels down on the table, then sits on the opposite end of the couch. “Hope Coke is okay.”

“It’s great. Thanks.”

Neither of them look at each other or touch the pizza.

“You, uh,” Bucky begins, not knowing how to word this. “You don’t owe me anything,” he finally says, then winces a bit. “I mean, if you don’t actually… you don’t have to… be here.”

Steve looks over at him, blue eyes worried and… hurt? For an actor, Bucky is shit with other peoples’ emotions. “Do you want me to go?” he asks.

“No,” Bucky says too quickly and too vehemently to be casual. “No, I. It’s just. Tense, is all.”

Steve laughs. “Sorry, I’m just having a bit of trouble dealing with the fact that I’m in Chad Darling’s apartment eating pizza.”

“Well,” Bucky says, trying not to bristle at the fact that Steve mentioned the stupid movie that has given him nothing but trouble, except for all the good things it did for him. “Technically you’re not actually eating the pizza.”

“Neither are you.”

“I…” Steve looks at Bucky searchingly, strangely, and Bucky grabs a box of pizza and opens it up. He grabs two slices and slides them onto his plate, then another two for Steve’s plate. “Thanks,” Steve says, grabbing a paper towel from the roll, then his plate. “I was worried that you were gonna hate me for leaving last night.”

Bucky shrugs. “Wouldn’t have been the first time someone’s ditched me,” Bucky says, trying to be nonchalant. “Besides, I can’t be too angry. You can kick my ass.” Bucky grabs his own plate and takes a big bite of pizza before setting it back down on the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Steve says earnestly between bites.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What if I attacked you?” he asks.

Steve gives him an incredulous look. “You’re not dumb enough,” he says.

“Wanna bet?” Bucky asks and before Steve can even put his pizza down, he leaps over and begins tickling Steve, who tenses at first, then falls into a fit of breathless laughter, his pizza flopping out of his hand and onto the table (thankfully not the carpet).

Trying not to think about the fact that he literally has a leg wedged between Steve’s thighs, Bucky reaches up to Steve’s armpits. “Oh hell no,” Steve says, reaching up and grabbing Bucky underneath _his_ armpits. He does some kind of bodyguard maneuver and before Bucky really knows what’s happening, Steve’s hovering over him. His hair is kind of flopping onto his forehead and over his eye and—maybe a bit stupidly, since gravity exists and all—Bucky reaches up to try to push it back. And then his hand hovers for maybe a second too long, and Steve moves his head, so that Bucky’s hand is gently touching the side of Steve’s face.

And part of Bucky thinks _fuck it_ and guides Steve’s head downwards towards his face. Then Steve is kissing him gently, lips almost hovering more than touching his and it’s sweet and tantalizing and Bucky _cannot take it_ , so he cups his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and pulls him closer so they’re _really kissing_ now.

Steve’s mouth tastes like Meat Lover’s pizza and it’s the best damn pizza Bucky’s ever tasted.

**…**

It doesn’t last nearly as long as Bucky would’ve liked, but it’s worth it to see Steve blushing furiously as he pulls away, pulling himself from Bucky’s body and sitting up at the edge of the couch again. “The pizza,” Steve says awkwardly, disjointed. “It’s getting cold.”

“I got a microwave,” Bucky says, pulling himself upright and meeting Steve’s mouth with his. Steve’s stiff for a moment, but loosens up, bitting softly at Bucky’s lip and stroking Bucky’s knee gently. It’s Bucky who pulls away this time, and he can’t help but smile. “But hey, if warm pizza means so much to you…”

“You should eat,” Steve says, still blushing and definitely not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “You’ll need your strength if you still think you can attack me.”

Bucky thinks he may be in love.

**…**

Which is stupid, because he met this loser yesterday.

**…**

And is doubly stupid, because all he can think about as he and Steve eat the food, watch _Storage Wars_ —which is apparently a guilty pleasure for the both of them, even if Bucky likes Barry but Steve prefers Dale—and chat idly is the fact that Bucky hasn’t really been touched that way outside of filming since… Alexander Pierce. And that’s a dark place that he doesn’t want to return to, but the nagging thought that this can’t be happening, can’t _function_ still floats on the edge of Bucky’s conscious, making the pizza taste like sawdust in his mouth.

**…**

“So you have a sister?” Steve asks as he finishes off the cinnapie up on the couch.

Bucky’s sitting on the floor, leaning on Steve’s legs and eating the last slice of Meat Lover’s. “Yeah,” Bucky says. “Becky, though to most people she’s Sergeant Barnes. She’s in Iraq; just signed on for another tour, which is great for her career and all, but sucks because she can only Skype at, like, three in the morning.”

“You didn’t mention her last night.” Bucky shrugs. “You didn’t really mention much about your personal life.”

“’S not that interesting,” Bucky says, shifting a bit.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Steve says, then pauses. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, a little worried at Steve’s tone of voice.

“Do you… I don’t want… I…”

“Out with it. It can’t be _that_ offensive you being the good samaritan and whatnot.”

Steve laughs, and Bucky relaxes a bit, not realizing that he had been tense. “It’s just that the magazines talk a lot about how you’re a player.” Bucky turns back to Steve and raises an eyebrow. “And… I don’t mind… But I just don’t want to be… If you’re currently in a relationship, then I can’t.”

Bucky could grin because Steve is blushing again and looking very resolutely at the moulding on the bottom of Bucky’s wall. “You’d think that being Natasha Romanoff’s bodyguard you wouldn’t pay much attention to the gossip rags.” The embarrassment on Steve’s face is adorable, but Bucky decides not to dig any deeper. Instead, he sighs, then turns back around. “Honestly? I haven’t been in a relationship since high school. I haven’t even _dated_ since getting here. Every time I take a friend out to dinner, the magazines are sayin’ that I’m breaking some new gal’s heart, even though it’s never romantic. I, uh…” He’s not sure if he should say something, or how to approach it, or even if it’s remotely appropriate to mention this now. But Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and he _wants_ to be honest with him, even though he knows he can’t. “I had something happen about a couple years after I came out here from New York. Messed me up a little. I haven’t… Been… Intimate with anyone since.” He says, and winces a bit since it comes out so strangely and forced.

Steve squeezes his shoulder. “Thanks for being honest,” he says.

“Yeah well,” he says. “At least I don’t have some weird fetish for Disney stars. Now that’d be _real_ embarrassin’.”

Steve flicks at Bucky’s neck and Bucky swears at him and Jesus Christ, this nerd is perfect.

**…**

They don’t sleep together because they’re so full and still hungover. They do, however, have a wonderful round of making-out, slow and passionate with _Storage Wars_ on in the background. Eventually, Steve falls asleep on the couch, tired out and having to go to work early tomorrow. Bucky covers him with every extra blanket he has to be nice. Well, to be nice at first; then he just wants to see how many blanketshe can toss on Steve without him waking-up, which is apparently all of them. After his experiment is over, Bucky drags the coffee table a few feet away, steals a couple blankets off of Steve and builds himself a small nest, where he falls asleep to the sound of Steve breathing.

It’s the best he’s slept in months.

**…**

Steve wakes-up before Bucky does because when Bucky wakes-up, he’s covered in all the blankets he had stacked on Steve—along with a thin layer of sweat—and next to his face is a note:

_Had to go to work. Blame Natasha._

_xoxo,_

_Steve_

_P.S. My number is 555-8372 if you ever want to call me, which hopefully you do._

Bucky grins.

**…**

Bucky calls him.

**…**

Their first date is all-you-can-eat sushi. Bucky knows this small, hole-in-the-wall place where the sushi is on little wooden boats that float around a bar. The owners greet him by name and are immediately charmed with Steve’s smile and his love of eel and terrible use of chopsticks. Their knees touch under the bar and they talk about their favorite Disney movies (Steve loves _Fantasia_ and Bucky is partial to _Peter Pan_ and both of them have a love/hate relationship with _The Fox and the Hound_ ). Bucky drives Steve back to his place in his sleek, black Lexus, which is fast, cool and, most importantly, has tinted windows so that Bucky can kiss Steve gently, letting his fingers sink into his soft hair. And when Steve invites him in, he only says no because he has an interview early tomorrow.

That’s definitely the only reason.

**…**

Bucky starts out their second date—which, in some ways is their fourth date, which definitely makes this more appropriate, Bucky tells himself—by handing Steve a contract. “My publicist drew it up with a lawyer,” Bucky says. “Sorry.” Bucky doesn’t really understand it, but apparently it’s an agreement that’ll put Steve in a world of hurt—legally speaking—if Steve ever talks about their relationship with the wrong people. Or anyone, really. It’s not romantic, but Cliff says it’s a necessary thing, and Bucky’s already on thin ice with the man, so he bucks up and does it.

“You’ll rest easier once it’s signed,” Clint told him over the phone. Bucky is pretty sure that it’s so Cliff can rest easy, but he doesn’t force the issue.

When Bucky hands it over, Steve glances through it and shrugs. “Doesn’t surprise me,” he says. “Had to sign one when I started working for Natasha. Just give me a minute to read it over.”

They’re in Steve’s apartment, which is worn-in and homey. It’s got a comfortable leather couch and the art on the walls are all reproductions of paintings that are probably very famous and which Bucky doesn’t understand at all. Steve finishes reading it and asks Bucky for a pen, which he provides. He uncaps it, but pauses before writes anything. For a sinking moment, Bucky thinks he won’t sign it and that this, whatever it is, is over. But Steve looks up at him and smiles. “Is this your weird way of asking me to be your boyfriend?” he asks.

Bucky grins.

**…**

When Bucky gets home to an empty apartment one night, he looks at the white walls and bad art and thinks of this life he has, the fact that he’ll text Steve in a minute and Steve will text him back, and he realizes that he’s happy. Real happy. Happier than he has any right to be and happier than he ever expected to be.

And it terrifies him.

**…**

The _Overture_ press tour starts a few weeks later. Bucky had been dreading it, all these interviews with no scripts and a million wrong answers he could give, but it turns out that most of his interviews are with Natasha, who has a wicked sense of humor and is always ready with the perfect comeback. It also means that Steve is always on the side, watching the interviews and making funny faces behind the camera.And yeah, they can’t touch in public, but there are stolen glances, lingering touches and one very memorable kiss in the backseat of a limousine before the Berlin premiere. 

The fifth day of the tour wasn’t as exhausting as the rest, and it’s the first night that the group gets back to their hotel at a decent hour. Bucky heads straight for the shower, but when he gets out he flops on his bed, grabs his phone with the intent to text Steve, only to find that he already has a message waiting for him.

_What’re you up to?_

Bucky grins and settles into the bed, not caring that his hair is making his pillow wet.

_just got out of the shower. u?_

_Reading, but I’d rather be seeing you having just come out of the shower._

Bucky rolls his eyes, but responds:

_I could come over if u want_

And the response comes too quickly:

_Room 722._

Pulling himself out of bed with a groan—because, let’s face it, Steve is the only thing that could get Bucky out of that bed—Bucky digs through his suitcase and pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of dirty jeans. After putting them on, he grabs his phone and room key and heads out. Even though Steve’s room is only a few away from his, he tiptoes around, not wanting any crew member to notice anything. That, and there’s always the chance that the ersatz photographer’s snuck his or her way onto the floor _Overture_ rented out, which is unlikely, though stranger things have happened. When he gets there, Bucky quietly raps twice on the door, which quickly opens to reveal Steve in nothing but a pair of thick-rimmed plastic reading glasses and a pair of grey sweatpants.

“You look like a nerd,” Bucky says, pushing past Steve and jumping onto his bed.

“Good evening to you too,” Steve says, shaking his head as he closes the door.

“So you decided to spend the night reading…” Bucky picks a heavy book up from Steve’s nightstand. “ _Anna Karenina_. Huh.”

“It’s good,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest and putting on his pouty face. Bucky grins, drops the book back onto the nightstand and beckons him over.

“Usin’ it to try to understand Natasha a bit better?” Bucky asks as Steve makes his way over. “So you can protect her from all n’erdowells that would do her harm?”

“Honestly, I think Nat keeps me around for the company more than anything else,” Steve says, taking off his glasses and setting them down on the bedside table next to his book. “She’s as capable as anyone of protecting herself, plus she’s got Thor for when I’m not on duty. She just likes me at events because I’m good-looking enough to cause rumors.”

“Uh-uh,” Bucky says as Steve climbs in bed next to him. He hovers over Bucky, face close and warm in the dim light. He’s breathing softly and Bucky can see his chest move up and down. Without mean it to, his voice becomes tender. “You’re all mine.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah buddy, all yours.” He runs a hand through Bucky’s hair—mostly dry, by this point—and kisses the top of Bucky’s head. Bucky lets himself shut his eyes and breath deep. This is the first time they’ve been alone like this, Bucky realizes as Steve reaches over him and shuts off the lamp on the beside table and the room goes dark. Steve shifts so he’s over Bucky, one knee between Bucky’s legs and the other against Bucky’s hip. He braces himself on his elbows and moves one hand to Bucky’s face, strokes his cheekbone with his thumb. “Hey,” he says quietly, breath warm against Bucky’s mouth.

“Hey,” Bucky croaks back, then breathes deep. He reaches a hand out and cups the back of Steve’s neck. _It’s fine_. He guides Steve down, shuts his eyes and kisses him.

They kiss slowly, Steve still stroking Bucky’s cheekbone, other fingers furrowing gently into Bucky’s hair, fingertips light and almost ticklish against his scalp. Bucky moves his hand from Steve’s neck into his hair. He splays out his fingers, pushing Steve closer. Bucky’s other hand reaches around Steve’s back, presses the hard, smooth muscles, feeling them move underneath Bucky’s palm. Steve is tender and chaste with his mouth and when Bucky can no longer stand it, he bites down on Steve’s bottom lip and lets it linger between his teeth for a moment. Steve makes a sharp intake of air, and Bucky takes the opportunity pry his tongue into the opening between Steve’s lips, running it against his teeth. Steve sighs softly and lets his mouth fall open. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut tight as he thrusts his tongue into Steve’s mouth, tastes Steve’s minty toothpaste breathes deeply into him.

But it still feels like Steve isn’t close enough.

Bucky tugs at Steve’s hair, Steve groaning in response and arching up, long expanse of his pale neck glowing in the darkness. Bucky arches up himself, reaches up for Steve’s neck and licks the smooth skin over his throat. He can feel Steve swallow under his tongue. He finds the sweet, soft spot under Steve’s jaw and nips the skin there, hoping it’ll bruise, hoping he’ll be marked, hoping—

The sob that had been trapped in Bucky’s throat escapes his lips. Bucky turns his head away in embarrassment, breath coming shallow, muscles in his shoulders tensing. Steve shifts, his own breath evening out as he smooths Bucky’s hair back. Bucky doesn’t deserve it.

“You okay?” Steve asks quietly, concern apparent even in the three syllables and Bucky can’t bring himself to look up, knowing that Steve will just be patient and kind when Bucky doesn’t deserve it.

“Yeah,” Bucky says; his voice barely shakes.

“You’re shaking.” It’s not an accusation, but it stings like one, even in Steve’s quiet, kind voice.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Bucky says too harshly. He swallows and opens an eye, glances up at Steve. There’s a quiet devastation in Steve’s eyes, something like disbelief. Bucky makes a small, involuntary noise that comes from the back of his throat. He shuts his eye and relaxes against the pillow, just trying to breathe. Steve doesn’t move, just continues stroking Bucky’s hair, like that’s all he can think of to do. “Sorry,” Bucky says once he catches his breath, once he can find the words. “I just…” He trails off, looking up at Steve and hoping that’s enough, even though it’s not and he knows it.

“Talk to me,” Steve says, face softening. Bucky can feel tears prickling in his eyes. “Bucky, whatever it is, it’s okay. It’s okay…” 

Bucky winces, tries to look away but in the dark room, there’s nowhere else for his gaze to go but to Steve. He reaches up, grabs ahold of Steve’s waist, anchoring himself on the firm muscles. He swallows, stares at his hand on Steve’s body and the words tumble out from his mouth. “The last time this happened I was raped.” Bucky bites down on his bottom lip and holds on hard to Steve. He can hear Steve’s sharp intake of breath

“Bucky.” There’s a range of emotions in the word, feelings that Bucky can’t sort out. Bucky shuts his eyes again, just to have them snap open in surprise when Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple. “Jesus Christ Bucky, I’m sorry.”

“What the hell do you have to be sorry for?” Bucky asks, a small, manic laugh at the end. He lets his hand drop from Steve’s side. “You don’t got a thing to be sorry about, okay?” Steve pulls back and Bucky looks at him with wide eyes because Steve needs to understand that he hasn’t done anything wrong, not a thing. “Don’t you dare apologize to me again.” Steve’s looking down at him like he’s fragile, like he needs to be protected and Bucky can’t stand it. “This is all me,” he says. “This ain’t you, don’t think for a second that—“

“Bucky.” Steve glances away, takes a breath then looks back down. His head shakes slightly. “Bucky you gotta stop.” Bucky doesn’t say anything; all he can think of to say is _I’m sorr_ y and _I love you_ and both are too late and too soon and utterly inappropriate, incapable of expressing all of the things he wants Steve to know but can’t articulate. When Steve realizes that Bucky doesn’t have anything to say, he continues in a soft voice, thumb stroking small circles against Bucky’s temple. “We don’t have to tonight or tomorrow or any time in the foreseeable future, Bucky.” But Bucky wants to; he really _does_ want to, he just can’t find the words to say so. “And if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” Bucky wants to shrink, wants to find a way to disappear. He doesn’t deserve this, not at all. “And even if you don’t, know that I care about you a whole lot Bucky, more than I think I’ve ever cared about—“

“Stop,” Bucky says and he doesn’t even care that his voice cracks and a small sob escapes his lips. “Just stop it, Steve. Jesus Christ.” Bucky tries to breathe but it comes out rough. He pushes himself up to a sitting position. Steve shifts off of Bucky, sits next to him, not touching Bucky. It’s no good; Bucky pulls himself close to Steve, sits with his arms wrapped around his own legs, Steve warm against his side. Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulls him in close. He kisses the top Bucky’s head again, and the repetitive gesture is so sweet, so warm and so undeserved.

“Bucky.” Steve’s mouth is close to his ear and Bucky shivers. “Bucky, it’s okay. Just… If you can, tell me how I can help you. I want to help you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he rasps. “I don’t fucking know.” Bucky breathes heavily, a few tears escaping his eyes. He tucks his head into Steve’s shoulder. Steve presses Bucky closer. They stay like this for a full minute, Bucky counting the seconds to try to ignore the other, worse thoughts going through his head.

“I’m going to turn on the light.” Steve clears his throat. “I’ll come right back here, when I’m done. Sound okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, voice cracking.

Bucky feels, rather than sees Steve nod, and then Steve’s moving away from him. The bedside lamp floods the room with light and Bucky hears the clicking of Steve’s glasses opening up as he slips them on. Bucky wipes away his tears with the back of his hand and straightens up, back against the headboard. Steve slips back in next to him. “Can I…?” he asks, holding his arm out. Bucky looks at him and can’t help but smile. He nods, Steve smiles back and puts his arm around him and pulls him in close. Bucky lets his face rest against Steve’s, inhales and wonders when the smell of Steve’s soap on his skin became something so familiar and important to him. “How’re you feeling?” Steve asks.

“Like shit,” Bucky says because he can’t lie to Steve, not after this, and at least Steve has the decency to chuckle.

Steve chuckles. “You scared me for a minute there, Buck.”

“I’ve been scared a long time, Steve.” His voice is raw.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. “You don’t have to, of course. But if it would help.”

It must be a full minute before Bucky says anything, but Steve doesn’t say a word and doesn’t move. “I was almost twenty,” Bucky finds himself saying. This was not how had imagined this evening. “I was twenty and I hadn’t had any work since _I Was A Teenage Popstar_.”

**…**

Armin Zola is probably the worst agent ever.

It’s been almost a year since he’s signed on with the guy and nothing has happened. Well, that’s not true. Bucky’s taken expensive acting classes with Zola’s friends and learned nothing in the process. Without the few modeling gigs he got for himself—without Zola’s help, he should note—he wouldn’t have enough cash to pay his bills. It seems so strange; _Popstar_ was a success. The soundtrack was number 1 on the charts for weeks and Bucky can’t go into Starbucks without getting asked for an autograph by some teenybopper with _Prom Queen Darling_ as their ringtone, yet he can’t even land an audition to get murdered on some _CSI_ variation. Just after wrapping _Popstar_ , Disney had approached him with a contract for a TV show of his own. If he had known that there wasn’t going to be any work for himself outside of the realm of the Mouse, he would have taken it.

Bucky schedules a meeting for Zola a week before his contract’s due to run out. “I’m not renewing my contract with you,” Bucky says as soon as he sits down. Zola looks remarkably calm behind his desk, his puggish features almost smug behind his circular glasses. “I haven’t had any fuckin’ work since I signed on with you and I’m sick of it.”

“Vat a shame,” Zola says in his German accent—Zola says it’s Swiss, but Bucky’s not entirely convinced. “I have scheduled a meeting for you witz Alekzandar Pierce, but if you find me so incompetent—“

“What?” Bucky asks, shooting out of his seat. He’s grinning like a lunatic and he knows it. “Alexander Pierce? For real? You’re kiddin’ me!”

“No Mr. Barnes, not at all! Alekzandar iz casting his new film and would like you to read for a part.” Zola gives Bucky a small, calm smile, as if he were talking to an overexcited child. It’s not inappropriate for the moment, but Bucky does not appreciate it nonetheless. But he’s too excited to dwell on it, for the moment because if Zola isn’t kidding, this could be the break he’s been waiting for.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, feels adrenaline pumping through his veins. “No shit? When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, if you would be amenable.”

Bucky is definitely amenable.

**…**

Bucky has to clear his very busy schedule of watching _Twin Peaks_ for the nine hundredth time, but he makes it to the curb outside his apartment at 3 pm, where Zola is waiting for him in a taxi. Zola spends the ride looking out the window while Bucky taps rhythms out a nervous rhythm on his knee. Alexander Pierce has been nominated for six Oscars and has won four. His last film, _Project Oversight_ , was a political drama with a rare mix of critical acclaim _and_ widespread box office success across multiple demographics. Not only did it win Best Picture and Best Director, but Nick Fury—virtually unknown before the film—won Best Actor; it launched his entire career. Rumor is that Fury has bookings for the next six years and a hundred screenplays sent to him every day. If Bucky could get a part in a film directed by Alexander Pierce, it could make all the difference. Bucky wouldn’t just be that hack from the Disney movie, he could finally be an actor.

But something about the situation seems a little strange to Bucky. Zola told him not to prepare anything for the audition, that it would be a cold reading for a part that Bucky doesn’t know a thing about. He doesn’t even know what the movie itself is about: no genre, no title, no nothing. This just makes Bucky even more nervous; he knows that he could blow Pierce away if he just had some clue what Pierce was looking for. He just doesn’t know what Pierce is looking for.

After a short ride, the taxi pulls up to some fancy hotel that Bucky doesn’t catch the name of. He follows Zola inside and through crowded lobby into the inner-portion of the first floor. “Come along Barnes,” Zola says, giving Bucky a strained smile while traversing the labyrinth-like hallways of the hotel with practiced ease, like he’s been here a hundred times. A few minutes later end up outside of a small conference room with a heavyset wooden door with a golden plaque on the outside that reads ‘Reserved.’ After clearing his throat, Zola knocks three times on the wood door; several moments later Alexander Pierce opens it.

“Hello boys,” Pierce says, nodding to the both of them, but pausing when he looks at Zola. “Arnim, always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure iz mine, Mr. Pierce.” The two shake hands, Zola with that same forced smile, Pierce with ease. When they break off the handshake, Zola clears his throat and and rocks forward to the balls of his feet with some kind of misplaced energy. “Now I must be off. Good luck, Barnes,” Zola says, patting Bucky’s shoulder, then scurrying off the way the two of them came.

A little confused, Bucky watches Zola leave, but snaps to attention when Pierce clears his throat. “Oh shit,” Bucky says, then winces. He’s been so tightly wound since Zola told him about the audition that he knew he’d fuck up, but he didn’t expect it to be so soon. Part of him expects Pierce to glare at him and just tell him to leave, but when Bucky braves a look over to Pierce, he’s just smiling like he would at some kid who’s done something wrong but adorable. “I’m James Barnes,” Bucky manages, holding out his hand.

Pierce shakes it firmly, expression gentle. “That you are, son, though I hear you prefer to be called Bucky. My name is Alexander Pierce.” Pierce lets his hand go and looks him up and down. Bucky bites down on his lip, suddenly self-conscious. “Come on inside and let’s have a chat,” he says, gesturing Bucky inside. Bucky follows Pierce into the room. It’s got a large wooden desk, a comfortable-looking couch made of tan leather flanking either side of it. “Take a seat,” Pierce says, gesturing to a couch. “Want a drink? I’ve got some great scotch that George Lucas gave me for my birthday last year.”

“Water would be great,” Bucky says as he sits. The couch makes a small farting noise as Bucky sinks into it, but he does not laugh. Everything about this is a test, really. The drink especially—Bucky is underage and maybe Pierce wants to see if he’s responsible. Either way, Bucky doesn’t want a drink clouding his judgement right now; he needs to be on point, to impress this man.

“Good boy,” Pierce says as he turns around. “It’ll be just a second.”

Pierce walks to a small table behind the desk. His back is turned to Bucky, so Bucky takes a moment to look around the room. There’s wood paneling that matches the comfortable, worn leather of the couch. The walls are painted hunter green, which matches the accents of the oriental carpet on the floor. The whole place is reminiscent of some duke’s hunting lodge and there’s something vaguely intimidating about all of it. Bucky thinks that some kind of mounted animal’s head wouldn’t be out of place and Bucky wonders why Pierce would have chosen this location, a little cramped and so atmospheric, for an audition. “So Bucky,” Pierce says, still fixing the drinks. Bucky can hear the clink of ice cubes as they are dropped into a glass. “My niece is a big fan of your Disney movie. She sings the songs all the time.”

Bucky tries to laugh, but it comes out forced. “It was a paycheck,” he says.

“Much more than that m’boy,” Pierce says. “It was a beginning. You just need to figure out the next step in your path.”

“I’m hopin’ that this meetin’ might help me do that,” Bucky says with forced confidence, though worried that he’s being too forward. It’s too late to skirt around what he wants, though. A check for the rent is due next week.

Pierce chuckles as something clinks into a glass. “I think we may be able work something out Bucky,” Pierce says before turning around. He’s got a glass in each hand—a tumbler of whiskey for himself, and a tall glass of water for Bucky. Part of Bucky feels relived; he was half-convinced that Pierce was going to fix him a real drink anyways, as some industry fellows like to do. Pierce takes his time walking over, but when he does, he hands Bucky the water with a smile. “I’ve been working on a new film,” Pierce says, walking around the desk and sitting on the chair behind it. Throat dry from nerves, Bucky drains about half the glass of water in one gulp. Pierce’s eyes trail the glass up to Bucky’s lips, then down again. Some vague feeling of unease settles into the pit of Bucky’s stomach, sloshing along with the water. Bucky hadn’t eaten lunch that day and he’s beginning to think that was a bad idea. “It’s a period piece,” Pierce says, breaking that weird eye contact and setting his own glass down on the desk, untouched. “A romance of sorts set during the first World War. Of course, the main romantic interests have already been cast, but there is a role I am seriously considering you for, Bucky.” Bucky sits up a little straighter, takes another sip of water. These weird vibes are definitely just nerves, he tells himself. This is it. This is his chance.

“I’d be happy to read for you,” Bucky says when he realizes that Pierce isn’t going to keep talking. “Just gimme a script, or I got some monologues memorized, if you—“

“That won’t be necessary,” Pierce replies.

“Oh.” Bucky’s been to a lot of auditions where he was assigned a number and sat in a large room with two hundred other actors, waiting to be called up to read a sixty-second monologue then be sent away. He wonders if this is really how auditions work for big-name movies. He didn’t think they did. He takes another large sip of water.

Pierce smiles. “What’s your favorite movie, Bucky?”

“ _A Streetcar Named Desire_ ,” Bucky says. It comes out too quickly and his voice sounds a little weird. He winces, but hides it behind the glass of water, which he polishes off.

“Hmm…” Pierce picks up his tumbler and takes a sip of his whiskey—the first sip he’s taken, Bucky notes. He leans back in the large, leather desk chair, the same color as the couches. “You know what mine is, Bucky?” Bucky shakes his head. The movement feels kind of weird, kind of slow. “ _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_. Have you seen it?” Bucky nods and he’s beginning to feel a bit dizzy. He really should have eaten lunch. “I find it so interesting, how one man tries to take his own destiny into his own hands, change the way that he sees the world and the way it sees him. It’s so amazing that even with this self-determination, his own conviction that he is in control of his destiny, just a few moments can take that all away from him. One procedure. Snip, snip. It’s gone.” The words Pierce is saying sound tinny in Bucky’s ears; Bucky is feeling real lightheaded now. He’s not sure he’ll be able to read anything, if Pierce gives him a script. He tries sitting up straight, but he just sways a bit, then sags. “Being a director can be kind of like that sometimes. You have actors and they want to do what they want to do. Think they know best. Think they understand a character, a scene, a direction better than you do. But you want to know the truth Bucky? They don’t. Simply just don’t. They cannot see what the are doing with the expert eye of an outsider. They are too locked within their own minds to understand what it is that they are doing and how they should behave. And as soon as an actor understands that, the better we can get along, and the better the film becomes.” Pierce pauses, though Bucky can barely even register it. “You feeling alright there, Bucky?”

“I, uh…” Bucky tries laughing again, but his ears are ringing. He can’t tell if he does or not. “You know, not that you mention it, not so much,” he manages.

“That’s alright Bucky,” Pierce says, standing up slowly as the world around Bucky sways. “I’ll take care of you.”

**…**

“I don’t remember anything but wakin’-up naked. It was eight hours later, but he was still there, fully dressed. I think he was even wearin’ a different suit, though I don’t really know. Tells me, ‘Good morning sleepyhead,’ and asks if I want another round. I was… catatonic. Comatose. He sighed, shook his head, said, ‘that’s a shame, son’ before throwin’ $40 on me. He told me to take a cab home and that his people would be in touch about the part. I terminated my contract with Zola that night and moved back to New York the next day.”

“How’d you end up back here?” Steve asks, staring straight ahead at the blank TV screen, as he has been for most of the story.

“A friend from _Popstar_ was directing a show and cast me as the lead. I got a lotta good buzz for it. Around the end of the run my current agent, Phil, gave me a call. We met over coffee and he got me three scripts within the week. In a month I was on set in L.A.. I always wanted to do movies. I decided not to let it get to me.” Steve shifts, looking over at Bucky. Bucky looks back, raises a hand and pushes Steve’s hair back, lets it linger in the soft hairs at the back of his neck. “But it still gets to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says.

“’S not your fault,” Bucky responds. He sighs, inches closer and presses his forehead to Steve’s, eyes feeling heavy from tears and exhaustion. “You can’t tell anyone,” Bucky says, ashamed that he’s even thinking about it. “Not that I think you would, but… You can’t. Only a few people know… Phil knows. Sam. Clint knows I won’t work with Pierce, won’t even go to an event that he’s at.” He pauses, wets his lips with his tongue. “Pierce, he… He offered me a role last year. Said I wouldn’t even need to read for it, he’d just let me walk on. Phil was so excited about it, could barely contain his enthusiasm when he told me. But I had a panic attack in his office.” Bucky laugh and it comes out bitter. “I had to explain after that, how Pierce was taunting me. That he could still control me with that one quick act, years later. That I’ll always be in his control.”

“I could kill him,” Steve says, shutting his eyes tight. Bucky can’t figure out what it is: a joking offer, a serious promise. Bucky has no doubt that Steve really could kill him. He’s done it before. That’s his ghost in the closet.

“I love you.” It comes out raw; Bucky winces, presses further into Steve, moving his one hand down to cup his neck with his hand and grabbing ahold of his arm with his other hand. “You don’t have to, I mean…”

Steve moves back from Bucky’s forehead and for a moment and Bucky’s stomach sinks. Bucky lets the hand that was cupping Steve’s neck fall to his side. “Look at me, Bucky.” Heart pounding, Bucky does so. One look at Steve and Bucky knows all he’s gotta know.

“ _Steve_ —“

Steve pries Bucky’s hand from his arm, intertwines their fingers and guides it so that Bucky’s palm is resting over Steve’s heart. Steve glances to the right for a moment, takes a deep breath, then looks at Bucky, eyes warm but determined in the soft light. “I can’t take away your past, Buck. And I hate that you had to go through that. I hate that you went through that alone.” Tears are welling in Bucky’s eyes again, and he knows that if Steve wasn’t gripping his hand so tight, he’d be shaking. “But I’m going to be with you from here on out, ’til the end of the line. Got that?” Bucky nods, jaw clenched. “I love you. And I’m gonna say it to you every day until you get sick of me. _I love you_.”

Bucky lets out a breath, pulls his hand out from under Steve’s and pushes back his hair. “Jesus Christ Stevie, that’s some speech you made there. You been practicin’ all week?”

“Well, when your boyfriend’s an A-list actor, you’ve always got to be prepared with something dramatic.”

Bucky grins and it feels like this weight’s been lifted off his chest. “C’mere,” he says, straightening up and leaning forward.

“Bucky, we don’t—“

“I want to,” Bucky says, kissing the side of Steve’s jaw. “I want to, Stevie, and I want it to be you and only you.” He backs away, looks up at Steve. “If _you_ want to, of course.”

It’s like Steve melts, the way that his rigid body becomes loose, the way that his lips fit against Bucky’s. “God Buck,” he whispers against Bucky’s lips. “Of course.”

Steve kisses Bucky and Bucky opens his lips immediately, letting Steve’s tongue slide into his mouth. Steve’s hands start in his hair, move down his back to the hem of Bucky’s shirt. Bucky pauses licking Steve’s lip to nod, back away and raise his arms. Steve lifts Bucky’s shirt off and makes a soft, impressed noise from his throat. Bucky takes the moment to pounce onto Steve, straddling him with a knee on either side of his waist, pressing in tight. Bucky looks down at Steve’s sweatpants and is almost relieved to see his erection pressing against the soft cotton. Bucky grins at Steve—who has followed Bucky’s gaze and whose cheeks are a beautiful pink—runs his tongue along his own teeth before reaching over to the nightstand and shutting off the light. He then turns back to Steve, leans down and starts a line of small nips down his neck, then moving down to his collarbone and below. He pauses to lick Steve’s nipple and is rewarded when Steve tenses and groans. “Like that?” Bucky mutters, before sucking the nipple, wrapping it with his tongue once again before biting down on it gently.

“You’re killing me Bucky,” Steve says breathlessly, arching up as Bucky runs his index finger up and down Steve’s muscular side. Steve shivers.

“Should I stop?” Bucky taunts.

“God no.” Bucky laughs, nips at the nipple one last time before moving south, slipping one hand into the elastic waistband of Steve’s pants. He strokes the soft, curly hair around Steve’s cock, sliding a finger around to trace the edges of his balls. Steve groans beneath him, eyes squeezed shut.

“Can I take off your pants?” Bucky asks.

“Yes,” Steve says.

Bucky pulls his hand away, causing Steve to make a small, whining noise. “Hold your horses, Rogers. Jesus Christ.” Bucky slips Steve’s pants down to his knees and takes a moment to admire Steve’s erect penis, glistening with precome in the darkness. He bends down and kisses the tip of it, lips just barely brushing the skin, before Bucky gets Steve’s pants all the way off.

Steve sits up, grabs onto Bucky’s shoulder and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss, teeth knocking into one another’s as they struggle to get the position right. “Can I…?” Steve asks when they pull apart, gesturing vaguely down to Bucky’s pants. Bucky stops for a moment. He takes a deep breath, looks into Steve’s blue eyes. “We don’t—“ Steve begins, but Bucky shakes his head. He pulls Steve in close, kisses him gently, gentler than they’ve been all evening.

“Yes,” Bucky says. “ _Yes_ ,” He repeats, shoving his hands into Steve’s hair and kissing him on his cheeks, on his nose, all around his goddamn face. He can feel Steve fumble with the button and zipper on his jeans and pull them down, fabric pooling around his knees. Bucky reluctantly removes his hands from Steve to help him get the jeans all the way off and thrown on the floor.

Then it’s just the two of them wrapped around one another on a comfortable hotel bed in a city neither has been to before and may never go to again. There’s a gap in the curtains where a small bit of light from the street below funnels into the room. Bucky can hear the sounds of the street, cars honking and people talking. He can hear the sound of someone passing by in the hall every now and then, some alone, some in small groups, talking quietly to one another. But most of what he can hear is Steve. Steve saying his name, Steve breathing softly, Steve making all sorts of great sounds that Bucky can’t help but to want to hear him make again and again.

“Will you?” Bucky asks.

“You want me to?”

Bucky nods.

“Okay,” Steve says. He kisses behind Bucky’s ear, then whispers: “I’m gonna make it good for you, Buck. I’m gonna make it so good.”

“You better,” Bucky says in a husky voice, flopping back onto the bed, head thankfully hitting the pillows and not the headboard.

Steve laughs as he reaches over to the nightstand, picks up a small bag that had been sitting next to his book. Bucky can hear it unzipping and hear the crinkle of the condom’s wrapper as Steve takes it out and slips it on. He takes out a bottle of lube, then tosses the bag onto the floor. He unscrews the bottle and slathers Bucky with it, taking his time as Bucky whines. Finally, _finally_ , Steve sticks a finger in. Bucky shudders, tensing all over. “You good?” Steve asks.

“More,” Bucky says, breathless.

Steve chuckles, taking Bucky’s dick in one hand and stroking it as he inserts another finger. Bucky arches up and Steve meets his mouth with his. “You’re so goddamned gorgeous,” Bucky says between kisses, barely able to get the words out as Steve opens him up. “So goddamned—“ Steve cuts him off with another sloppy kiss. Bucky feels himself begin to leak out. “Fuck me,” he says. “Steve Rogers, fuck me.”

Steve pulls away. He grabs for the bottle of lube again and lathers himself with it, then lines himself up. “Buck,” he says, putting a hand down on Bucky’s chest. “You gotta tell me if something’s not right. Okay?”

And Bucky could make a crack here and part of him wants to but… He looks up at Steve, eyes blue even in the darkness and face looking so fond and worried. “Okay,” Bucky says. Steve nods and eases himself into Bucky. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, his mouth opens wide and he lets out an inhuman noise.

“You with me, Buck?”

“’Til the end of the line,” Bucky whimpers, echoing what Steve said earlier.

And then Steve begins slowly thrusting. He goes slowly at first, each time a little deeper until he finds that perfect spot that makes Bucky moan. Steve starts thrusting quicker, then grabs Bucky’s dick and begins pumping it in time with his thrusts. Bucky throws his head back and tries to breathe, but soon enough he’s seeing stars. “Steve, I’m gonna—“

“Not if I go first.”

Both give a breathy laugh, then Steve’s coming inside of him. There’s a thin sheet of sweat on Steve’s chest and his eyes flutter closed; he groans and it’s obscene. His hands are still on Bucky’s dick, squeezing and massaging and a moment later, Bucky’s coming, too, liquid squirting up and getting on Steve’s stomach.

When they catch their breath, Steve pulls himself out. He pulls off the condom, ties the end into the knot and then just stares at it. “What’s wrong?” Bucky asks.

“I have no idea where the trash is,” Steve says, perplexed.

Bucky groans, grabs the condom from Steve’s hands and tosses it over his shoulder. It lands somewhere on the carpet. “Buck, that’s gross.” Steve reaches over and pinches Bucky’s nipple.

Bucky flinches. “Hey!”

Steve laughs, moves his hand over to Bucky’s shoulder and leans over him. He kisses him chastely. “You good?” he asks, hot breath on Bucky’s mouth making him more excited than he as any right to be, given what just happened.

“Never better,” Bucky whispers.

Steve smiles, then settles down next to Bucky. Bucky curls up at Steve’s side, head on his shoulder, Steve’s arm around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky falls asleep to the feeling of Steve’s thumb rubbing small circles on his neck.

**…**

“Mr. Barnes, you look tired today.”

“Call me Bucky,” Bucky says, trying to smile rakishly but ends up squinting in the bright lights of the TV studio. “Not enough coffee this morning, I guess.”

Brie Larmer, the reporter for whatever show he was on this morning, chuckles politely. Natasha chuckles none-too-politely.

**…**

After the press tour for _Overture_ ends, Bucky’s reading a tabloid on while using the toilet in Steve’s apartment. “ _Steeeeeeve_ ,” he calls, hoping Steve’ll hear him through the door.

There’s a pause, an audible groan and then, “Whatever it is, can’t it wait until you’re not shitting?”

Bucky sighs, rolls up the tabloid, finishes up his business and bursts out of the bathroom as quickly as possible. “You got somethin’ to tell me?”

Steve gives Bucky a skeptical look from over his iPad. “Probably not. I’m sure you’ll enlighten me in just a moment.”

“Don’t you be smart with me, Steve Rogers.” Bucky points the rolled-up tabloid at Steve. “Or should I say ‘Unidentified Man in the Employ of Natasha Romanoff’?”

Steve sets his iPad down on his lap. Bucky glances at the screen; he’s reading the news. Damn productive member of society. Nerd. “Bucky, I know that being famous means you have access to all sorts of mind-altering substances, but just because they’re available to you doesn’t mean that you should partake. You may no longer be a Disney Channel star, but you should think about the example you’re setting for the children.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep talkin’ about good examples when…” He holds up his index finger, then opens up the tabloid and begins to read, “This scrumptiousm yet unidentified man in the employ of Natasha Romanoff has been the puppeteer behind Romanoff’s affair with _Overture_ co-star Bucky Barnes. Sources say that he’s lured the two together so as to get close to Barnes’s best friend, Sam Wilson. Since the _Overture_ press tour wrapped, the foursome have been inseparable, though pairin’ off at the end of the night: Barnes and Romanoff head to Romanoff’s home, while Wilson and the man head to Wilson’s apartment.” Bucky looks up from the magazine, years of acting experience being the only defense against the stupid smile that’s threatening to break out. “You coulda told me that you were—“ he pauses, looks back down to the magazine, “planning the sordid Romanoff/Barnes affair from the very beginnin’.” Bucky shakes his head.

“Come on now, Bucky. You know that I only date movie stars. Sam’s not A-list enough for me to seduce.”

“Well, according to this completely legitimate source, you’re a harlot who’ll stop at nothing to get into Sam’s pants and wallet. They even got a picture of the two of you goin’ out for sushi, which they photoshopped Nat and me out of. Are you really so smitten with Sam that you’ll even photoshop me out of your life? I’m not even sure how to trust you anymore, Unidentified Man.”

“You’ll get over the shock eventually, I promise.”

“In a life filled with betrayal, this is the one that stings the worst.”

Steve sighs. “Give me that before you get any more ideas,” Steve says. Bucky rolls his eyes and passes the tabloid over to Steve, who then stands up, kisses Bucky’s temple and heads to the bathroom.

Two minutes later, there’s an outraged squawking noise from the bathroom, then Steve yells, “They named the article the Fantastic Foursome?”

Bucky has to sit down, he’s laughing so hard. 

**…**

_Overture_ releases wide in December. The reviews are stellar and discounting the few historians who’ve been grumbling about the film’s overall accuracy, it’s a critical success. It becomes a multi-demographical success, with older filmgoers going to see the historical costumes and classical music, while younger audiences weep over Chad Darling kissing his best friend goodbye before death. Theaters sell more tickets than expected and the buzz over the film starts to center on its chances during Award Season.

It’s a surreal experience for Bucky, opening up a newspaper and having critics who didn’t know his name two years ago predicting that he’ll get nominated for an Oscar.

He was Chad Darling once upon a time.

“Your portrayal of Chad Darling should have won an Oscar, dear,” Steve says over coffee one morning. “That was probably your peak. It’ll all be downhill from there.”

Bucky throws a scone at him.

**…**

Sam throws the Fantastic Foursome a brunch the day that the Golden Globe nominations are announced. Of course, he throws it in Bucky’s apartment, but he brings coffee and croissants from Steve’s favorite bakery, so Bucky doesn’t mind the fact that he’ll end up doing all the dishes at the end of the day. It’s Natasha, however, who shows up a few minutes after Sam with several bottles of champagne and enough orange juice to cure a large sailboat’s crew of scurvy. You’ll want to be trashed if you get nominated and you’ll want to be trashed if you don’t,” she explains. “It’s a win-win situation.” 

So they’re all full of eggs and croissants and more than a little tipsy when Mary Jane Watson announces that Bucky’s up for Best Supporting Actor, Natasha’s in Best Supporting Actress, as well as _Overture_ being nominated in almost all of the other categories, including Best Film (Drama). Bucky kisses Steve after each bit of good news, and when the broadcast is over, he pins Steve to the wall, only letting up when one of them needs another sip of mimosa.

(Sam tries to kiss Natasha when Steve and Bucky are ignoring them, but gets Natasha’s elbow in his side as a reward for his efforts. But after his profuse apologies, she rolls her eyes, kisses his cheek and tells him that he’ll be taking her out to dinner tonight as an apology.)

When Sam and Nat cough politely enough for Bucky to remember that they exist, he lets Steve loose, turns off the TV and ditches the mimosa, grabbing a bottle for himself.

They’re all chatting, laughing, making plans for the Globes when Bucky gets a text. He almost doesn’t check it, but he thinks it may be his ma or maybe Becky, so he pulls his phone out of his back pocket. It’s from Clint: _Get to my office ASAP and don’t turn on the TV._

Bucky rolls his eyes, “He probably thinks I don’t know yet,” he says, showing the text to Steve and taking a swig from the bottle. “Wanna relive the victory?” Bucky asks and Steve smiles, but it seems a little strained. He looks like he’s about to say something when Sam interjects from the other side of the room.

“Hell yes I do!” Sam says, grinning.

“There we go!” Bucky says, grabbing the remote and switching the TV on. He flips the channel over to E!, which he’s sure will have some silly celebrity news program that’ll be talking about the Globes.

“… This sex scandal comes as quite a shock. Pierce has won six Oscars, including winning Best Director last year for his political thriller, _Hydra_.” Bucky drops the remote. 

“—allegations that Pierce drugged the young actor—“

“Bucky?”

Someone’s grabbing him.

“—no comment—“

Bucky is either breathing too hard or not at all; he can’t even tell.

“Bucky, please—“

“—previous rumors that Pierce had soured relationships with young actors, though—“

“Look at me, Bucky.”

Steve’s hands are on his face, physically turning him away from the television screen. Bucky looks at Steve, who has one hand on Bucky’s face, another in his hair, smoothing it back. His eyes are so worried, but Bucky can’t focus on them. It’s like everything’s underwater, and before he realizes what’s happening, he’s shaking his head. “I can’t,” he rasps out, standing up and wrenching himself away from Steve.

“Bucky, we can—“

“Sam, what’s going on?”

“Natasha, we need to go.”

Bucky’s walking towards his room.

“Steve, you got this?”

Bucky’s shutting the door, locking it.

He can’t even make it into the room. He leans against the door and lets himself sink to the floor. He wraps his arms around himself, tears streaming from his eyes and breath catching in his throat.

_It wasn’t just him._

**…**

By the time Bucky wakes up, it’s already dark out. He’s got a crick in his neck and he has to blink a few times before his vision stops being so goddamn blurry. His throat is dry, but he thinks that maybe he slept through most of the hangover, though when he tries to stand he feels a bit sick to his stomach.

He’s fine, he can think now. It’s the time for practical action, to figure out what’s going on. When he’s on his feet, he makes his way to the desk in the corner of his room and boots up his laptop, tapping his thumbs on the desk as it loads.

All it takes is typing ‘Alexander Pierce’ into Google to get a news article explaining what’s happened.

**…**

**Alexander Pierce Accused of Raping Young Actor**

_Alexander Pierce, the Oscar-winning director of_ Hydra _and_ Project Insight _has been accused of sexual assault by a sixteen year-old actor, whose name is being withheld from the media, due to his position as a minor. The director allegedly invited the young actor to an audition through the actor’s agent._

_“My agent never gave me a script to read and said that he didn’t want me to prepare anything,” the actor says in his report to the police. “My agent picked me up for the audition, but when I got there, he left. I hadn’t been on many auditions, so I thought it was normal. Pierce offered me a glass of water. It was drugged and I passed out. I woke-up naked. Pierce was still there and asked if I had enjoyed myself.” The actor states that the assault took place in a hotel in Beverly Hills._

_Pierce has no criminal record, though several insiders have mentioned that Pierce has always had shaky relationships with the young, male actors he casts in his film. One crew member who has worked with Pierce on several films told our reporter, “He won’t talk to them when they’re on set, preferring to set-up meetings with them after hours. I don’t think anybody got raped, but it all seemed a little weird to me.”_

_At this time, Pierce’s publicist has not responded to our calls for a comment._

**…**

Bucky doesn’t know what to do—what he _can_ do—so he exits out of the window and shuts his laptop. His stomach grumbles. Food. That’s a start, right? Basic necessities and all. He takes a few minutes to change into fresh clothes, then opens the door and…

There’s Steve on the couch with a box of pizza.

“You’re still here,” Bucky says, voice soft and disbelieving.

Steve’s got _Peter Pan_ playing on the TV and Bucky’s eyes fill with tears. Steve stands up, wrings his hands in front of him. “I called Phil, told him what happened. I said you’d give him a call when you’re up to it. Clint sent a few texts, too. I said something along the same lines.”

Bucky nods, movement small. “What time is it?” he asks, voice wavering.

“About nine.” Steve glances over to the coffee table. “The pizza’s cold, but that’s why you’ve got a microwave.”

Bucky nods again, tries to think of something else to say, but can’t. “Fuck it,” he says, taking a few long strides over to Steve. He wraps his arms around him and pulls him in close. “Thank you,” he says into Steve’s neck.

“You remember what I said, right?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah buddy, I do. But…” He swallows the rest.

“You can tell me Buck. You can trust me.”

Bucky lets out a breath. “Steve,” he says, reluctantly pulling away. “There’s something I never told you. Never told anyone.”

**…**

Bucky walks out, dazed. His shirt is buttoned incorrectly; his hands had been shaking too much, fingers not reacting to his commands, like they’re no longer connected to his mind. But it shouldn’t matter that he’s disheveled, seemingly unmade. There’s no one here who he knows. No one to help him. Hell, he doesn’t even know his way out of these seemingly endless, labyrinth-like hallways, full of plush, orientally-styled carpeting in pleasant, warm colors. He feels sick to his stomach, but he knows there’s nothing inside but water and pills, nothing in the hollow cavern of his own body to even retch up.

Bucky stumbles through another hallway, doors all looking unassuming and identical. He must have taken a wrong turn. Maybe he’ll never be able to leave this place, maybe—

“Hey,” someone says behind him. Probably a guest. Bucky pauses, though, rests his hand on the cream-colored wall and catches his breath. “Hey, yo, are you gonna throw up? Please don’t throw-up. Wanda’s on duty and she hates cleaning up vomit.” Bucky turns and there’s a man in a blue jacket, the word SECURITY written in small, white letters on the lapel. He doesn’t look threatening. He’s twitchy, with pale skin and silver hair, even though he can’t be much older than Bucky himself. “Hey there,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Who’re you?” Bucky asks.

He swallows. “I’m with security,” he says, words tumbling out quick. “There’s something you’re gonna want to see.” Bucky just stares, the wall his only support as his knees feel weaker and weaker. “Come with me to the back room and quick, while my boss is still on break.”

**…**

“You have the tape?” Steve’s holding on tight to Bucky’s shoulders, gripping them like he’s worried Bucky may run away or fall over if he were to let go. Bucky doesn’t mind, not at all. “Are you… Sure about what’s on it?”

“I’ve watched it, if that’s what you’re askin’.” Bucky doesn’t look at Steve’s eyes, preferring to look at the bad art on his wall. He doesn’t want to see what Steve’s thinking, so often plainly laid out for Bucky on Steve’s face. He bites down hard on his lower lip before letting himself say it, words coming out slowly, as thoughtfully as he’s capable of: “I’m betting a of people aren’t listenin’ to him, Steve. ‘Specially since he’s not releasing his name. Pierce has too many friends and he probably thinks he’s alone in this.”

“It could ruin your career,” Steve says after a pause, words slow, non-judgmental.

Bucky looks up at him at last. “I always convinced myself it was just me. That it couldn’t have happened to anybody else. But it’s been six years and if he’s still doin’ it now, it probably started before me, too.” Bucky moves closer to Steve, rests his head on Steve’s shoulder and shuts his eyes. His voice comes out quiet, almost a whisper. “I shoulda done it a long time ago, Stevie, but maybe now if I kick up a fuss, people’ll take notice or somethin’.”

Steve releases his grip on Bucky, then takes a shallow breath. Bucky doesn’t move, even though his stomach is sinking. But Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulls him in close. His cheek is against Bucky’s hair and Bucky can smell the warm, clean scent of Steve’s soap on his skin. “What can I do to help?” he asks.

“First, we need to find the right reporter.”

**…**

**_Vanity Fair_ Magazine Exclusive**

**Bucky Barnes: “I was raped by Alexander Pierce”**

**By Christine Everheart**

_It was the day after the Golden Globe nominations that Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes’s publicist, reached out to me. “My boy has a story,” he said over the phone. “Something to add to the Pierce scandal that’s going on. You want the interview?” Mildly concerned that this would be a waste of time and merely a publicity stunt to gain votes for his nomination, I nearly declined.But something in Barton’s tone made me reconsider and I scheduled an interview for the following afternoon._

_On paper James Buchanan Barnes, 26, has nothing to do with Alexander Pierce. Barnes—who prefers to go by Bucky—is a teenage heartthrob turned serious actor. The day the scandal broke, Barnes was nominated for a Golden Globe for his performance in_ Overture _, a biographical film on the life of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Barnes plays Tchaikovsky’s close companion, Nikolai Rubenstein, a concert pianist who is oftentimes in the shadow of his famous friend and temperamental older brother. Though Barnes has branched out from his days on the Disney Channel,_ Overture _has been considered by many to be his breakthrough performance. His moving portrayal of Rubenstein coupled with his charismatic interviews has propelled him as a front-runner for award season statues. He also has developed a huge following on the Internet, many young fans having followed him since his first television role at the age of eighteen._

 _The only meager connection between Pierce and Barnes on the professional scene are the old rumors that Pierce had approached Barnes’s agent about a part in_ Red Room _, Pierce’s last film. However, Barnes had refused to read for the part, citing scheduling conflicts. Following his work in television, Barnes moved to New York, where he began to shed his poster boy persona by laying himself bare in an Off-Broadway production of_ Candles to the Sun _. Since returning to California, he has worked steadily, strategically picking pieces that have both kept Barnes busy and kept him far away from the Disney channel. Still, his smiling face has been all over the media in recent months in sassy soundbites from interviews and dashing photos from international film premieres._

_That’s why it was a shock when I walked into his living room._

_Barnes lives in a modest apartment in Los Angeles. I had initially attempted to schedule the interview at a favorite coffee shop of mine, where I frequently bring celebrity guests, though Barton insisted we meet on Barnes’s turf. “It’s personal,” he stressed, then added, “We’ll also need a TV.”It seemed strange and I was skeptical up until the moment that I met Barnes for the first time. Upon entering the apartment, I saw Barnes sitting on the couch, holding a cup of coffee. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept for days, and despite his notoriety for impeccable style, his hair was unwashed and clothes were ill-fitting. The dark color of the zip-up sweatshirt he wore, several sizes too large, only emphasized the dark circles underneath his eyes. This was not the same Bucky Barnes who walked down red carpets, evading questions about his relationship status and winking at fans._

_Yet, when I came in, he immediately stood up and shook my hand. “Ms. Everheart,” he said._

_“Christine, please.”_

_He smiled, a momentary sign of the man I had seen in interviews and onscreen. “Bucky,” he said. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Water? I got Mountain Dew, too, but I’m guessin’ that offerin’ you that isn’t very professional.” In person, Barnes’s Brooklyn accent is a charming but subtle reminder of the star’s quiet past, of his childhood troubles in the New York foster care system and other unanswered questions that Barnes has not spoken about with the media._

_I laughed. “I’ll take a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind.”_

_“Not at all.”_

_Barnes wasn’t alone in his apartment. Natasha Romanoff, his_ Overture _co-star and rumored girlfriend, sat perched on a black sitting chair, looking poised, put-together and intimidating while Steven Rogers, a member of her security detail hovered at the window on the opposite end of the room. Also present was Barnes’s best friend, Sam Wilson. Wilson was the one who opened the door and welcomed me into the apartment. The television star has a friendly demeanor and a kind smile, and his presence in the room was oftentimes what broke the tension of the afternoon. “It’s great you could make it. Bucky wanted the right reporter for this one,” he said as Barnes fixed me a cup of coffee in the kitchen. I noded, still mildly confused. Romanoff did not introduce herself and hardly looked up from her phone for the entirety of the interview._

_Barnes’s home is tasteful, if a bit plain. The plush carpets and walls of Barnes’s living room are a pristine white, with large windows on one side, leading to a small balcony. “I don’t spend much time here, honestly,” he called from the kitchen, after I complimented his home. “It’s all out of an IKEA magazine. And don’t get Steve started on the prints in there; he hates them. Says they’re not real art.”_

_Steve turned from the window for the first time while he laughed at Barnes joke. “Motel art is still art, Bucky,” he said admonishingly. Rogers is a handsome man, blond and tall. He’s the head of Romanoff’s security team, but is good friends with the three actors in the room. Several times during the interview, Barnes looked to Rogers for a word of encouragement or nod before continuing on in his story. Bucky returned from the kitchen with my cup of coffee, handing it to me while making a fuss about Roger’s comment. The mug was from a nearby diner, which Barnes admitted to going to far more than his nutritionist probably wanted him to. He gestured for me to sit on the couch, which I did. After sitting down on the other end, he took his own abandoned mug from the glass coffee table and took a sip. He then set it back down, pulled his legs up onto the couch and wrapped his arms around them protectively, like a child during story time. Thus far, the room had been tense but friendly, but the mood suddenly shifted. Barnes looked small and tired, not at all like the self-possessed man who blessed tabloid covers with rumors of sordid affairs and made teenage girls swoon._

_“You ready?” he asked. I took my tape recorder from my purse, flipped it on and set it down. Putting down my coffee next to the recorder, I dug through my purse again, this time for my notebook and pen._

_I noticed Barnes eyeing the recorder. “Just tell me if you want something off-the-record,” I said._

_He shook his head. “It’ll all be on the record.” I began to laugh, but paused. Barnes looked serious. “Should I start?” I nodded. He cleared his throat, looked back around the room. Romanoff glanced up and nodded at Barnes. Wilson smiled at him encouragingly. When Barnes’s glance made it to Rogers, the man smiled and said, “You can do it Bucky,” which seemed to give Barnes the encouragement he needed. Barnes looked back at me, bit down on his lip for a brief moment, deep in thought, then said plainly, “When I was nineteen, Alexander Pierce scheduled a private audition with me through my agent at the time, Arnim Zola. When I got there, he drugged me then raped me.” He looked sick to his stomach, swallowed hard and continued, unable to look me in the eye. “When I heard the story break… I thought it was time to tell people. There’s a lot of people out there sayin’ that the story can’t be true, that someone like Pierce can’t do somethin’ like that. I’m here to say it’s a lie and that I have proof.” He picked up a VHS tape that had been lying on the table. “Pierce may be a director, but he’s the star of this movie.”_

**…**

“It’s trending,” Natasha says, glancing up from the computer. “And _Vanity Fair_ ’s put up part of the video on their website, though it cuts out after Pierce undresses you.” She pauses. “There’re a lot of people saying that it’s obscene and everyone involved with putting it on the Internet should be ashamed.”

Steve rolls his eyes, starts to get riled up. “Yeah, well maybe they should start talking about _why_ it’s obscene and _why_ it had to be put up on the Internet in the first—“

“Can we not talk about this?” Bucky asks. “Everyone knew this would happen.”

Bucky woke-up to a crowded apartment. If Bucky knew that giving Steve a key would make his home the unofficial meeting ground of the Fantastic Foursome—a name that Bucky uses just to piss Steve off—whenever they were worried someone’s precious feelings may be hurt, he’d have never given it to him. (Okay; that’s a lie, but it is kind of annoying that Natasha unexpectedly showing up for morning coffee because she misses Steve keeps ruining his hopes of Steve making them breakfast naked.)

“The morning shows are going to start soon,” Natasha says. “We should—“

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts, because if they’re going to sit around all day and dissect how every talk show host handles the fact that _he was raped_ , Bucky will literally go insane. “Get cleaned up. We’re going out.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Bucky, maybe going out isn’t such a good—“

“And by going out, I mean that we’re getting in my goddamn car and we’re gonna drive somewhere far away enough that we can go to a Denny’s and not get recognized. Okay?” Bucky’s voice breaks on the last word, which wounds his pride, but is probably the reason that Steve nods.

“Yeah Buck, sure,” he says. “Just let me get some stuff together.”

**…**

“We should’ve invited Natasha,” Steve says as he climbs into the passenger seat of Bucky’s Lexus. He tosses his overnight duffle into the backseat next to Bucky’s. “She came all the way across town to make sure that you’d be alright.”

“Or because she has nothing else to do,” Bucky says as he starts the engine. Steve gives him a sour look, which just makes him grin. “Come on now, Steve. You’re talking to the number one trending topic on Twitter. Can’t you do something besides worry and complain?”

“That’s all I do around you.”

“You weren’t complainin’ last night, is all I’m sayin’.” Steve reaches over and flicks Bucky’s cheek. He doesn’t get his hand away quickly enough, so Bucky’s able to turn his head over and bite Steve’s index finger gently.Steve swears and Bucky runs his tongue over the curve of skin underneath Steve’s nail. Steve makes a small, pleased noise, which makes Bucky grin, teeth around the finger.

“You’re the worst,” Steve says, pulling his finger away.

“You weren’t sayin’ that last—“

“Don’t you dare.”

Bucky chuckles, bites back a comment about acting like a married couple that he doesn’t want to scare Steve away with and puts the car into gear. Bucky backs out of his parking space and through the concrete parking garage that’s attached to his building. “So, are you going to break-up with me once I’m no longer trending?” He tries to keep his voice light, but he can already tell that he’s failing.

“Fat chance,” Steve says. “I’m kind of completely nuts over you, Buck. Thought you would’ve noticed that by now.”

Bucky grins. “I dunno, Stevie. Sometimes it’s a little hard when the stuff you say is nothing like those letters I get from members of the Official Bucky Barnes Fanclub. You know, the other day I got a real hard sell from Claire in Ohio, says we could run away to the mountains together, have a secret love cabin where she’ll ravage my body whenever I want. You won’t even go twenty miles outta the city with me. Plus, they all have plastic ID cards that say that they’ll always have me in their heart. You don’t have anything on your person that promises me your eternal affections.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I’ve sucked your dick.”

“Point taken.”

Bucky grins and Steve beams back at him and begins to fiddle with the CD player in Bucky’s car and honestly, things feel like they may be alright.

**…**

They drive to a decent-looking economy hotel somewhere in Nevada. Bucky would’ve kept going a bit longer, but Steve grasps Bucky’s shoulder firmly and says, “I can only listen to the _Wicked_ soundtrack so many times in one day, Bucky.” Which isn’t fair at all, since Bucky’s let Steve sing Elphaba’s part in _Defying Gravity_ four out of five times. But the hotel has a few decent-looking chain restaurants around and seems vacant enough that the chances of someone tweeting that he’s there are pretty slim. So Bucky pulls off the highway and drives into the parking lot of this Holiday Inn Express. But as soon as he puts the car into park, Steve puts his hand on his. “Sure you want to?” Steve asks. “We’re far away, but you’re still going to be recognized by somebody. Back home we’ve got people who can help if something happens.”

“Nothing I do today could possibly overshadow that interview, Steve.”

“I’m just saying that maybe staying at a motel with your friend’s bodyguard isn’t such a great publicity move right now.”

“But it’s not a motel,” Bucky says, pulling his hand out from under Steve’s and opening the door. Steve sighs, but does the same. Bucky goes to the backseat door, opens it and grabs Steve’s duffle, which he tosses over the car at Steve. “It’s an economy hotel, you punk.”

Steve catches the bag with a grunt. “Much better,” he says, shutting his door a bit too aggressively.

“When’d you get to be such a snob?” Bucky asks, grabbing his own bag and locking the car.

“Started dating an actor. Guess I’m used to the best.”

Bucky doesn’t have a death wish, so he doesn’t grab Steve in the parking lot, but he does allow himself to move closer and knock his shoulder into Steve’s. “Yeah, well, I’ll show you the best tonight,” he mutters before they walk into the hotel and go up to the front desk.

There’s a teenage boy at the front desk, facing away from Bucky and Steve. “Just a second,” he says, typing something into a laptop before he looks over. “Hello, welcome to the Holiday Inn Express, my name is—Oh my god, you’re Bucky Barnes.” His eyes are wide. He’s got acne and is wearing a standard black polo with Holiday Inn Express embroidered on the front, but his ears are gaged and his glasses have thick, plastic, blue frames, which makes Bucky think he’ll be at least a bit sympathetic. “You’re trending,” the boy says, then swallows hard.

Steve coughs loudly and Bucky manages to casually elbow him in the stomach while still naturally bringing his arm around to rest on the front desk. “Yeah,” he says, glancing down for a moment. “It’s been a rough week.” The kid stutters something and Bucky looks up at him through his eyelashes. “I’m tryin’ to get away for three days…” He glances back at Steve, who nods. “This is my security guard, Steve,” he says, gesturing back to Steve. “We’re gonna need a room for tonight and tomorrow night. You got anything that’d work?”

“Yeah,” the boy says, sliding his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and turning back to the computer. “I—“

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Bucky says, leaning a bit closer to the kid. He can feel Steve rolling his eyes behind him, which honestly just goads Bucky on.

The kid turns back with disbelief, and Bucky does not break eye-contact. “Franklin,” he finally says, voice a little thick. Bucky grins.

“That’s a great name you got there, kid,” he says, straightening up. “Bucky ’n Franlkin. Two old fashioned names for two modern fellas, right?”

“Sure,” Franklin says and Steve chuckles.

“Sorry,” Steve chides. “Bucky’s a little out of sorts. Do you mind checking if you have a room?”

“Nah, it’s fine, it’s just…” He swallows again, looks over at Bucky. “I had something happen to me. Like that. And. Hearing you talk about it, being open… It helps. So… uh…” He pauses, pushes his glasses up again. “Thank you.”

Bucky’s mocking smile falls. “Yeah kid,” he says. “You’re welcome.”

Franklin finds them a room with two beds… _but_ there’s a room with a kingsize and a hot tub, so they take that one instead. “Steve’s a security guard,” Bucky explains, smile wicked. “That means he’ll be wide-awake all night. Watching me. Tending to my every need and whim. You know, he usual things that one’s security does for them.”

Franklin gives him a look, then very pointedly hands the keycards to Steve, and not Bucky. It was probably the smart decision,but the kid’s smug look at Bucky’s astonishment stings a bit. He and Steve grab their things, then head into the creaky elevator to get up to the fourth floor. As soon as they’re alone, Bucky wraps his arms around Steve and presses his face into his neck. “Is it going to get better?” he asks as they pass the second floor, the elevator making a small ding.

“Probably not,” Steve says. There’s a ding for the third floor. “And it’ll probably get worse than that.”

Bucky sighs and reluctantly pulls away from Steve before the doors open. “Guess we’re just going to have to ease the pain by getting drunk,” Bucky says as he steps out of the elevator, Steve close behind him. “There’s an Applebee’s next door. Let’s get hammered.”

“Whatever you say. I’m merely your security with absolutely no say in—“

Steve can’t finish because Bucky’s kissing him, quick, because they’re still in a public hallway, but good. “Fine,” he says, still lingering too close in Steve’s personal bubble. “Your choice: Applebee’s, Chili’s or Steak ’n Shake. Choose wisely.”

“You’re a jerk,” Steve says, but he’s grinning.

“And you like it.”

**…**

Bucky orders a rum and Coke and gets the spiciest wings on the menu. Steve gets a beer and a burger and they share a whole bunch of dessert shooters. There’s a football game playing in the bar, no stupid tabloid shows, and none of the bearded men spare Bucky or Steve a second glance. They stay for a while, Bucky tipsy enough to risk playing footsie with Steve under the table.

And it feels normal, it feels good, and everything’s glowing under the neon beer signs the restaurant’s got everywhere. Steve smiles at him from behind a half-filled chilled mug of Sam Adams and Bucky thinks that this is it. It’s a done deal. Sign him up for the goddamn Steve Rogers Official Fanclub, get him a plastic card that shows his unyielding devotion.

He knew the revelation was going to come sometime, but somehow he never thought it’d be in an Applebee’s.

**…**

Bucky’s tipsy and horny (and somewhat emotional) by the time that he stumbles into their room.

“Let’s turn on the hot tub,” Bucky says, wiggling his eyebrows and pulling off his shirt. “I think we’re a bit dirty.” He tosses the shirt on the floor, heads for the hot tub in the corner of the room.

“I think you’re a bit drunk,” says Steve, fondly exasperated but also stubbornly clothed and not coming over to the hot tub.

Bucky grins, beckons Steve over. “I think you’re a bit hot.”

Steve chuckles, hands on his hips. “You’ve made that apparent.” He’s got on his off-duty grandpa clothes on, which Bucky wants to rip off more than anything in the world.

Since Steve’s not coming to him, he walks over to Steve, reaches up and cups the back of his neck in his left hand. But instead of kissing him, he just looks up at Steve, who is looking down at Bucky like he’s something fantastic. “Tomorrow,” Bucky says slowly, not sure where this is going. “Tomorrow we could go over to Vegas.”

“Bucky—“

“We could get married there.”

Steve stops smiling. “Bucky…” He reaches up and smooths Bucky’s hair back. “You know I love you.”

“Then—“

“I don’t want to marry you this weekend,” he says before kissing the top of Bucky’s head. “I mean, you didn’t even get me a ring.”

“There’re a lot of jewelry stores in Vegas,” Bucky suggests, but it’s weak and both of them know it.

“Yeah, but there’s only one you and I want to get this right,” Steve says, so sincere that Bucky can’t even roll his eyes, just nuzzles his head into Steve’s neck, wraps his arms around Steve’s absurd torso and inhales the scent of Steve’s skin. “Before we start worrying about where all this is going, let’s get through the next couple weeks, Buck.”

“You’re worried I’m gonna screw up,” Bucky says, voice flat.

He feels, rather than sees, Steve shaking his head. “No Buck. I'm worried about _you_. Tonight was good, but who knows what shitstorm will be waiting for us when we get back to L.A.. I’m fine with hiding away for a couple days, but things are gonna be rough when we get back. We have to be prepared.”

“They’re gonna attack me, Steve I _know_.” He pauses to kiss Steve’s neck, then breathes out. “But I did the right thing, and I… Do you know how good it feels? To have it off my chest? Not to walk around with it hovering behind me and having no one know? I feel _relieved_ , Steve. I feel good. And people are gonna shove it in my face and try to bring me down. I’m not gonna win the Globe and I won’t be nominated for an Oscar, but I’ll definitely get the Independent Spirit Award and…” He lowers his voice. “You saw that kid, right?” Steve nods. “He was alone, but I helped him, I think. And I’m lucky, Steve, real lucky. I’ve got you. And Sam and Natasha, but Steve, I was alone for a long time and I was scared but…” He pulls away, looks at Steve’s stupid and perfect face. “You’re kinda my hero.”

“You’re a sap,” Steve says quietly, looking fond.

“I love you,” Bucky says.

“Me too, Buck. Me too.”

“Now about the hot tub…”

**…**

Alexander Pierce is arrested early in the morning. Bucky is sleeping quietly, wrapped around Steve when it happens, dead to the world after a night of sex, then quietly watching _My Cat From Hell_ on Bucky’s laptop while Steve sketches until they fell asleep. It’s the best weekend Bucky’s had in a long, long time.

**…**

When they get back to L.A., Bucky meets with Phil and Clint first thing. Phil sits him down and tells him that he’s been dropped from his next project. “He says it had nothing to do with the controversy,” Phil says, very much looking down at some papers on his desk and not at Bucky. “Said something about his ‘artistic vision’ for the film.” He pauses, sighs, looks up at Bucky. “We’ll get you something better,” he says. “You deserve better.”

The media is split on their opinion of Bucky. Most are sympathetic, since the video is solid, obvious proof of Pierce’s guilt. But some mention that the timing of the reveal was, “Really quite strange, what with Barnes being nominated for the Golden Globe the day Pierce was accused.” Christine Everheart is having the high of her career, appearing on talk shows and defending Bucky, but most of the media have begun pointing at Bucky’s weekend getaway and silence as being proof of some kind of strange calculation in his decision to reveal his past.

“We’ve got to get you live on TV,” Clint tells him during their meeting. “People have to know that you’re not hiding.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “They’ve also gotta know that you’re still the same asshole that you’ve always been, so congrats—you’ve got that part down.”

“Book me whatever you think’ll be best,” Bucky says. “But I’m not doing the circuit. You get one. Anything else I do has to be related to _Overture_. No more Pierce bullshit.”

When Bucky gets a message from Clint later in the day saying he’ll be appearing on _Dr. Banner_ , of all shows, he thinks it may be retaliation for all the times he’s ignored Clint’s calls.

Dr. Bruce Banner was the most outrageous talk show host on the west coast at one time. Then, a few years back, he chucked a chair at a guest, gave them a concussion and landed himself in an anger management program. He lost his show, but took up yoga, and eventually he got himself back on television, in a daytime talk show role, targeted at housewives and kids who’re home sick from school. All things considered, it’s not a _bad_ pick, since Banner and his audience will probably be sympathetic to Bucky, but Bucky’s also not to keen on talking about this subject with a guy who regularly has tea-making demos on his show.

Whatever. It’s gotta be somewhere, doesn’t it?

**…**

“… A very special final guest, Bucky Barnes!” Bruce Banner says the next day as Bucky walks onto the soundstage, waving at the live studio audience and hoping his smile doesn’t seem _too_ forced. He’s wearing a tailored blue suit and has enough make-up on to cover the bags beneath his eyes, making him feel caked-up and gummy. But if this what he has to do, then he’ll d it. “It’s been an eventful week, hasn’t it?” Banner says after they’ve shaken hands and Bucky’s taken a seat on the white couches that Banner’s guests sit on.

Bucky grins. “Yeah, had to get my dishwasher replaced. It was leakin’ all over my kitchen.”

Banner laughs, along with several other members of the studio audience. “Very funny, Bucky, but that’s not quite what I was thinking of.” Banner pauses, leans forward. “Do you have any comments about what’s been going on in your life?”

Bucky swallows. “Firstly,” he says. “I’d just thank everyone for their support, both in regards to my nomination and in… regards to the Pierce situation. The support I’ve gotten has been overwhelming…”

The interview lasts twelve more minutes and it’s about as fun as getting a root canal.

**…**

In a cruel twist of irony, Bucky loses the Globe to Nick Fury, who didn’t even show up to the awards ceremony. As the room applauds for Fury, Steve—ostensibly Natasha’s date, but sitting between the two of them—leans over and whispers, “You’re my winner,” into Bucky’s ear. 

There’ll be other chances.

And maybe Steve’ll let him spray paint his body gold some night and let him pretend he’s fucking an Oscar. Definitely worth a shot, what with all the pity points he’s been collecting lately.

**…**

Three days later, Bucky isn’t nominated for the Oscar.

But he does audition for a film called _The Great Figure_. It’s another biographical movie, this one tracing the intersections and friendship of the poet William Carlos Williams and the painter Charles Demuth. Originally Bucky wasn’t going to audition, since there would’ve been a scheduling conflict, but being dropped from his latest project opened up a window. Plus Demuth is one of Steve’s favorite artists, even if Bucky read for the poet.

Later that day, he gets the call offering him the part. He says yes and as soon as he hangs up the phone, he calls Steve to tell him; Steve, with some trepidation says, “Don’t be mad, but—“

“But what?”

“The script is good, and this was definitely _not_ the reason that I wanted you to audition, but—“

“Jesus Steve, what is it?”

“Natasha’s in talks to play Georgia O’Keeffe, which means I’ll—“

“This is the _best ever_.”

**…**

Even though he’s not nominated, Bucky’s gotta show up to the awards. Natasha, Charles and Peggy all have nominations, and the film is up for Best Picture. If he didn’t show up, it’d be like backing down, letting the Academy know that their politics got to him. He almost falters when Pierce gets out on bail before his trial and says to a reporter, “No talentless hack with a vendetta can keep me from going to the Oscars. These are my people, my friends, and they’ve already shown where their loyalties lie.” But Phil convinces Bucky to hire a security detail—not including Steve Rogers, since Steve would be “compromised,” like that time he punched a paparazzi in the face when he was hassling Bucky about Pierce—so Bucky hires a guy named Logan, who is by far the meanest Canadian he’s ever met. When he finds out that Becky’s got a leave of absence, he invites her as her date—Sam will get over it someday—because she’s his little sister, and he loves her. And also she could beat Alexander Pierce to a pulp if he tries anything.

And it all seems like it’ll work out.

That is until Becky meets Steve and she just _knows_.

It’s hard staying in touch while Becky’s overseas. She’s on furlough for two months back in New York, but flew out for the weekend for the awards. And it wasn’t like Bucky was trying to hide it from Becky, but what with all the media and publicity about his life lately, he just didn’t want Becky to have to worry about Bucky jumping into a new relationship. He was gonna tell her, he really was. She comes to L.A. the day before the ceremony, and Bucky is planning on doing it on the taxi ride from the airport, but the driver knows who he is, of course, and tells them all about how much he liked _Overture_ and how Bucky really needs to work on his Russian accent. Bucky decides to tell her at lunch, but a group of Bucky Barnes Official Fanclub members come over, asking him to sign their membership cards and Bucky can’t just start talking about his _boyfriend_ while they eavesdrop on their conversation and post the details of it on Tumblr.

But it takes Becky all of six seconds to walk into apartment, see Steve flipping through a magazine on the couch while Sam flips channels next to him to know what’s up. She walks straight over to Steve, stands a few steps away from him with her hands on her hips. “So who’re you and how long have you and Bucky been fucking?” Natasha snorts from her usually chair and Bucky has never hated his sister so much as he hates her in that moment.

Steve, of course, flushes furiously. He stands up and salutes Becky. “Captain Steve Rogers,” he says with ramrod posture. “And about, uh five months.” The five of them go to dinner and no one goes more than ten minutes without saluting someone.

That night, when Steve, Sam and Natasha are gone and he’s alone with Becky in his apartment, she comes into his room and sits on the edge of the bed. “I like him,” she says, studiously looking at her nails.

Bucky grins. “So do I,” he says. “Way more than I should.”

Becky shakes her head. “You deserve it, Bucky.”

His grin fades. “He’s good Becks, real good. Better ’n me.”

“No one can be better than you, Buck. And even if you don’t know it, I think he does, which I think may be the most important part.” She pauses. “How’d it start?”

“You remember makin’ fun of me because I was singing drunk in a club?” Becky nods, a smile spreading across her face. “Met him a couple hours before that.”

She chuckles, but her face becomes serious. “When’re you gonna go public?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Been a rough few months.”

“Bucky, you’re stupid over this guy. You spent all night starin’ at him, worried that he’d get outta your sight for a second. Don’t you wanna hold his hand in public?”

“Of course I do,” Bucky says quietly.

Becky sighs, pats his shoulder. “I’m not sayin’ you have to put out a press release this second. But you should think about it, Bucky. You’ve had enough crap in your life. I don’t want you to lose the good stuff.”

**…**

Bucky’s wearing Tom Ford, as he does at every event he ever goes to (since they already have his measurements and have never stuck him with a pin) but for some reason, the same interviewers who go to every event ask him, “Who’re you wearing?” and act like it’s a revelation when he replies, “Tom Ford,” answer getting more clipped and smile faker each time. 

One reporter confides, “You know, our viewers created an online betting pool, and they almost unanimously voted that you’d be wearing Tom Ford tonight.” _All four of them_ , Bucky doesn’t say. When Bucky doesn’t doesn’t respond, her attention shifts to Becky. “And who is your date tonight?”

“Ah, this is my little sister, Sargent Rebecca Barnes. She’s back home from overseas for a few weeks and decided to be my date.”

“She decided?” the interview asks with a raised eyebrow.

Bucky forces a laugh. “Well, that and I didn’t have an actual date.”

“Oh yes he does,” Becky says and Bucky turns his head so quickly he nearly gets whiplash. “And tonight when they’re doing the frick—“

Bucky elbows her in the stomach and she stumbles over her heels. “So much for your military training,” he mumbles while she reaches over and pinches his ear.

“Excuse me?” the interviewer says with wide, hungry eyes like she’s just a dog who has just been presented with a steak. “Do you have a girlfriend, Bucky?”

And with complete honesty, Bucky grins and says, “No girlfriend, ma’am. No girlfriend in my life at the moment. Now, if you’d excuse us.” He links arms with Becky and they walk into the theater, ignoring the shouting reporters because, well, Bucky’s had enough of the media for a lifetime and he needs to have some words with his sister.

**…**

Even though he’s not nominated, Bucky’s in the second row of the front section, since _Overture_ as a whole did so well in the nominations. Becky’s on one side, Steve’s on the other with Natasha on the aisle. It’s not until they’re comfortably in their seats and Bucky’s sure no one is eavesdropping on them that he turns to Becky, whispers viciously, “What the hell was that out there, Becky?”

“What was what?” Steve asks, hearing too good for his own damn good.

Bucky turns to him before Becky can say anything. “Becky told an interviewer I wasn’t single.”

“Literally nothing you do tonight will be able to overshadow that,” Becky says with a shrug. “You just sit back and relax; it’s smooth sailing from here. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

Steve blushes, but chuckles and Bucky scowls deeply at him.

It’s gonna be real hard not holding his hand tonight.

**…**

“And the Oscar goes to… Natasha Romanoff for _Overture_!”

The crowd roars as Natasha stands, dignified. She’s smiling, but doesn’t reveal any sort of emotion as she pecks Steve’s check and glides up to the stage. She’s got another daring fashion choice on tonight. The dress is the palest blue, barely even a color. Its silky fabric clings to her body in dangerous ways, leaving just enough to the imagination. The fabric floats behind her as she walks and Bucky notices that it’s a far cry from the severe outfits that she usually wears, usually sharply architectural and in deep colors. When she gets to the stage, she accepts the Oscar with a nod.

“I have always dreamed of receiving an Oscar,” she says into the microphone. She pauses, looks at the statue for a moment, then sets it down on the stage. “Yet, tonight this doesn’t feel like an honor. It barely feels like anything.” There’s a murmur in the crowd. “I do not speak as his friend, but as a colleague, one who respects his talent and and who knows that his performance _Overture_ was an unrepeatable feat, something that not just any actor could perform.”

“Oh shit,” Bucky whispers. Steve grabs his arm, squeezes, but he’s gone a moment later, too quick for the cameras to catch.

“Bucky Barnes should have been nominated tonight. The Academy should not have let politics and the mind of a sick man get in the way of validating the performances that deserve it. Furthermore, for what reason should we, as a community, punish a victim. No—not a victim, a brave man who was able to air his private life to the world for the sake of other people, to keep people safe. Not many in this room could do that. Not many people could do that, period. For these reasons, I thank you for your votes, but do not accept this Oscar.” Ignoring the statue she’ left on the ground, Natasha walks off much as she walked on, head tall and gown flowing behind her. The orchestra struggles to catch up with her and _Bucky is going to murder her_.

He tries to let only surprise, not anger show on his face for the cameras that are now zooming in on him and Steve whispers into his ear, “For the record, I told her not to do it.”

“At least my comment won’t be getting you into trouble,” Becky says gleefully on his other side.

Bucky’s going to murder everyone in the room.

**…**

Ten category winners refuse their Oscars; every winner from _Overture_ does, including Peggy Carter. It’s completely unheard of and even Wade Wilson, the raunchy comedian and the night’s host doesn’t know what to make of it. Some of the people who refuse their statues are people that Bucky has never even met; the costume designer from another period piece who was molested during her sophomore year of college and whose college administration did nothing when she reported it, the directer of the Best Animated Feature Film—a Disney picture, ironically enough—who wept. 

The most interesting refusal of the night comes from Best Supporting Actor winner, Nick Fury—Pierce’s favorite actor and muse, whose career many saw as owing to Pierce’s special attention. “Alexander had a lot of one-on-one meetings with young actors who never seemed to end up in any of his films,” he says onstage. “I could tell that there was something off, but never said anything. Sometimes when you know someone, you overlook the signs that show their true colors. I trusted a bad man—“ Pierce, who was in the audience but had not spent any time out on the red carpet, storms out of the building, his security detail following him closely. “And put my career ahead of everything else. And that was wrong. Doing this is not brave; what Bucky Barnes did was brave. And the fact that he is not being recognized for what he deserves to be recognized for is wrong. The fact that the men and women of the Academy were wiling to overlook talent in favor of safety, familiarity and politics is wrong. Bucky Barnes should not have been nominated because he is a brave man; he should be because he is a brave actor, who put an amazing depth of soul into his character in _Overture_. None of the people nominated for that film tonight would be on this stage were it not for his performance. It is a tragedy that he was not recognized for it and that I should be up here in his place. I do not accept this Oscar tonight and hope that, in the future, the Academy and other organizations of its kind do the brave thing and honor the right people.”

“Do you even know him?” Becky asks, mouth slightly agape.

“No,” Bucky says, mouth also slightly agape.

“That was some speech,” Steve says, applauding enthusiastically, then glancing over at Bucky. “A real amazing performance. Oscar-worthy, Buck.”

Bucky stomps on Steve’s foot; Steve winces and Bucky grins as the applause dies down, wondering where the hell he’d be right now if it weren’t for Steve.

**…**

When _Overture_ wins Best Picture, Natasha has to physically drag him onto the stage. Though it may be embarrassing, at least he now knows that everyone in the room has seen the fact that, as graceful as she may appear, she is not nearly as calm and collected as she wants people to think she is. Once onstage, he tries to float to the back of the group, but Tony grabs his hand and drags him to the microphone. “On behalf of the cast and crew of _Overture_ , I’d like to thank you for this award. But you all don’t want to hear me talk, as much as I know you enjoy it, so here’s the man of the night, Bucky Barnes. I’m sure he has a lot to say to you all.”

Tony’s grinning because they both know that Bucky has _absolutely nothing to say to any of them._ But he gives Bucky a push towards the microphone, anyways and Bucky just _knows_ this is retribution for stealing a moment that should’ve been Tony’s, all things considered.

“Uh,” he says. “I didn’t… I didn’t know any of this would…” he gestures vaguely to the group standing behind him. He can hear Natasha snigger. “I am… overwhelmed with… this. The support and… It’s… I really don’t… I…” He’s tearing up a little and his voice is cracking _and this is so goddamn embarrassing_. “I’m proud of this film and the people who worked on it. I’m proud of all the people who have gone through a lot, whether they’re in this room or outside of it or on the streets and… I’m glad that there’re so many people in the world who are willing to… speak the truth. Because it’s difficult. I know that. Standing up and admitting things is… uh… hard. So. Thank you for being brave.”

He steps away from the microphone and tries to walk off the stage, but Natasha grabs him and holds on tight. “That was terrible,” she whispers into his ear as Peggy says a few more thank yous. “All the drama, and you give us that? I want my money back.”

Bucky glares. “I never asked for any of it,” he says.

“But it’s what you deserve,” she says, gaze even and words sincere.

Bucky swallows and there’s finally the blessed applause that means he can leave the stage.

**…**

Bucky skips the after party. He, Becky and Steve take a limo back to Bucky’s place, while Natasha (using Logan for the rest of the evening) goes to pick up Sam for Elton John’s after party. They’re all quiet on the way back, Steve holding Bucky’s hand, absently rubbing his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles.

“I’m beat,” Becky says once they get into the apartment. “I’ll be sleeping on the couch. Very soundly,” she adds, winking at Steve, who blushes once again. Bucky doesn’t want to waste a minute, so he grabs Steve’s hand and drags him into the bedroom.

“Bucky—“

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky says, shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket. “That was… It was so weird and…” His voice cracks. “If you weren’t there, I swear to God I would’ve left. Just walked right out of there, even though all those people were… _Nick Fury_ , for Chrissakes…” He tries unbuttoning his shirt, but his hands are shaking. He makes a frustrated noise and Steve steps closer.

“Let me,” Steve says quietly, breath warm on Bucky’s face as he begins unbuttoning it.

Bucky snorts. “I can’t even get my fucking shirt off. And you…” He swallows, lets himself tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair. “You just keep givin’. I’ve been a mess this whole time and you just keep takin’ it in, forgiving me and dealing with me and…”

Steve finishes unbuttoning the shirt and looks up at Bucky. “Don’t you dare think for a moment that you haven’t given me just as much as I’ve given you, Bucky.” He moves a hand to Bucky’s arm, holds on tight. “Yeah, it’s not always easy. And it kills me to see you beat yourself up over these things that have happened to you, but it’s all worth it, Buck. Every minute of it.”

“But—“

“And you don’t even think about the things that you do for me, Bucky. How much time do you spend ruminating on how much you think you’re putting me out when I wake-up screaming from nightmares once a week? Or when you push me out of paparazzi shots? Or keep me out of bar fights?” His face is so serious; Bucky doesn’t even know what kind of expression he’s got. “You help me get through the day, Bucky. I don’t know what I have to do to make you understand that, but I’ll keep telling you over and over until you get it through your thick skull. I love you. I want to be with you. Everything that we’ve gone through is just gonna make us stronger. Got it?” Bucky nods. Steve lets go of his arm and takes a step away. “You know what always helps me when I’m feeling down?”

“What?” Bucky asks, thinking that maybe Steve’s been holding out on him thus far.

Steve grins, holds out a hand. Bucky takes it and Steve pulls him in close, holding one of Bucky’s hands and resting his other on the small of Bucky’s back. He starts humming quietly.

It’s _Prom Queen Darling_.

Bucky laughs, kisses Steve’s cheek, and lets Steve rock him back and forth until he forgets.

**…**

Alexander Pierce pleads guilty and it charged with statutory rape, amongst several other, minor charges. He is sentenced to four years in prison and a hell of a fine. It doesn’t sit well with Bucky that the sentence isn’t longer, and that Pierce will probably get out earlier than expected for good behavior, but he sleeps easier that night knowing that the world finally sees Pierce as what he is.

**…**

**Five months later**

**…**

“It’s good to have you back, Bucky,” Banner says, shaking Bucky’s hand as he sits down. “Things seem to have become a lot calmer in your life lately.”

Bucky nods. “Thankfully.”

Banner continues: “ _The Winter Soldier_ was a great film. Very entertaining, and so different from your usual films.”

Bucky shrugs. “What can I say? I always wanted to be an action hero. _The Winter Soldier_ was the right script at the right time, and I’m proud to have been a part of it.”

“But to have such a great winter at the box office with _Overture_ and then to star in the summer’s biggest blockbuster must be very satisfying.”

“I feel lucky that people have responded so well to the films I have worked so hard on.”

“And you finished wrapping _The Great Figure_ last month and the buzz surrounding it has been very positive.”

“It was an amazing experience,” Bucky says, having rehearsed these lines in his head a million times. “We shot the entire film in a month. It was just… very quiet, very intimate. I think that the end results are gonna surprise people. It’s not what you’d expect. I haven’t been in like it before.”

“There’s buzz that your portrayal of William Carlos Williams may get you an Academy—“

“Let me stop you right there,” Bucky says with a laugh. “After the stunt Natasha pulled at last year’s ceremony, I don’t think the Academy is gonna let me through the door for a long, long time.” Bruce laughs. “Besides, it’s worth it just to have worked on the film. I hope people enjoy it, I hope they respond well to it. But even if they don’t, I’m proud of the results and you gotta learn to applaud yourself, even if no one else wants to.”

Bruce nods. “That’s very healthy, Bucky.” Bucky resists snorting, which he counts as a win. “Initially, you weren’t going to audition for the film. What changed that?”

And this is it. Bucky takes a deep breath.

“Initially I had a scheduling conflict, so I wasn’t gonna do it because of that. Then my schedule opened up. I knew I wanted to keep workin’, so I looked at my options. I wasn’t too keen on doin’ another biographical film after _Overture_ , and I actually hadn’t read the script to close. But my boyfriend, he’s a real smart guy, knew all about Williams and has a Demuth print in his apartment, actually. He saw the title, read the script and then showed me a bunch of Demuth’s paintings, explained them to me. Read me Williams’s poetry, too. Told me all about how they’re both real important, and how their art speaks to each others’. Got me to see the script in a whole new way, and when I did, I knew I had to try to get the part.”

“Excuse me Bucky,” Banner says, looking him with excitement. “Did you just say _boyfriend_?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he says, and there’s a murmur through the crowd, a few people applauding. “Yeah, this is… It’s somethin’ that I’ve wanted to talk about for a while. I haven’t been completely honest and… I wanna set the record straight, once and for all. It wasn’t the right time, with all the drama this year, but it’s not something I wanna hide. I’m in a relationship. It’s with a man. And it’s the best thing I got goin’ for me.” There’s more applause from the audience and Bucky smiles out at them, waits for them to settle down before continuing. “He’s been there for me, through all of the past year’s drama and I honestly don’t know where I’d be without him. And it’s been terrible tryin’ to keep it a secret, not bein’ able to hold his hand in public and all that. So… This is me sayin’—“ he looks straight at the camera “Steve Rogers is my boyfriend. I love him and I could care less about what you think.”

Banner smiles. “This wouldn’t happen to be the same Steve that you serenaded at the _Overture_ opening party?” Bucky looks away, embarrassed. “It is!”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but it’s without heat. “I sorta saw him that night and I knew it was all over, that I’d do whatever he wanted. And… he was drunk enough to say that that was what he wanted.”

“So who is Steve?” Banner asks, “What can we know about him?”

“Wanna talk to him?” Bucky asks.

Banner makes a surprised face and Bucky _hates_ these things because Banner definitely already knew that Steve was gonna come on, since they had talked about it _twenty minutes ago_. “Well, you guys,” Banner says, addressing the audience. “What do you think?” The room erupts into cheers, then Steve walks on, poised and waving a bit to the audience, and Bucky just wants to wrap his arms around him and never let go because _Steve’s just that damn perfect_. “Hello Steve,” Banner says, getting up to shake Steve’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure,” Steve says, then sits down on the couch next to Bucky. Steve takes Bucky’s hand and it feels really, _really_ good. “I’m happy to finally be able to be here.” And it’s so sincere and much better than anything Bucky’s ever said in one of these dumb interviews and Bucky hopes Steve knows how much he goddamn loves him.

“So Steve,” Banner says, “Tell us about yourself.”

“Uh, well,” Steve says. “I grew up in Brooklyn, like Bucky, but we never knew each other. When I was eighteen, I enlisted. I served a few tours in Afghanistan, then retired as a Captain. I worked as Natasha Romanoff’s security detail until recently, which is how I met Bucky, but things have changed in the past few months.” Bucky sits up a little straighter. “Someone, who I will not give the benefit of naming, sent my portfolio in to Walt Disney Studios, so I’m now working as an animator there.”

Bucky’s grinning so wide that Steve has to physically elbow him to get him to calm down. “I’m going to take a wild guess, and say that you must have done that, Bucky?”

“You got that right,” Bucky says. “He’s an amazin’ artist and everyone there loves him.”

Steve blushes on national television and Bucky’s glad that he convinced Sam to record this, since he’s definitely going to watch this over and over again forever and ever. “Not nearly as much as you do, though,” Banner says, which actually makes Bucky blush, and then Steve’s laughing at him and...

Well, it’s better than Bucky ever thought any of this could’ve been.

And he looks at Steve in the studio lights, blue eyes shining bright and he wonders how he got so lucky, what he ever did to deserve to have this man in his life. And he wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders and holds him tight. “Yeah,” he says. “I don’t think anyone could ever love him as much as I do,” he says and, like always, it’s the goddamn truth.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Want a fun drinking game? Reread this and take a shot every time 'breath' or 'breathing' pops up. Except don't. You'll probably die.
> 
> If you like me, check me out at whtaft.tumblr.com. If you don't like me, that's okay. Talk a walk. Smell some flowers. It's all good.


End file.
